


He's Owl That

by Hydraeonusis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Draco Malfoy, Attempt at Humor, Divorce, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Drarry, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Magic Theory, Magical Accidents, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Owl!Draco, POV Draco Malfoy, Powerful Harry, Rating May Change, Separations, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sneaky Draco Malfoy, Wandless Magic, Wordless Magic, epilogue compliant, magical houses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 132,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydraeonusis/pseuds/Hydraeonusis
Summary: Whatever Draco thought his life would hold for him, it was not being stuck in a cage in the middle of Eeylop’s Owl bloody Emporium.Of course, Potter has to come along and save the day. Again. But with Potter's magic on the fritz, Draco has to wonder who's keeping an eye on the 'Saviour'.Bah, the Ministry can't do anything right.





	1. Eeylop’s Owl Emporium.

Draco’s animagus form was unregistered. One: he wasn't a dragon. So, his boyhood dream was ruined. Thanks, Father for another false expectation. Two: he was an owl. A creature made to deliver correspondents and late birthday gifts. Excuse him for not wanting to register with an already judgemental group of the Ministry of Magic. If Weasley ever found out, he’d never hear the end of this. The idea he would break laws as an owl was a strange one. All he wanted to do was fly. Not steal or eavesdrop into bland conversation. Whatever Draco thought his life would hold for him, it was not being stuck in a cage in the middle of _Eeylop’s Owl_ bloody _Emporium._

“We have this beautiful Australian Masked Owl--”

Draco dared, just dared for the old man to sell him to the sticky-fingered child who watched him eye-wide. He was a beautiful owl, yes, but he didn’t need scratches or those disgusting treats. Or fingers in his just-groomed-right feathers. He wanted out of this cage and back to Scorpius, back to the Manor to see if his plan hadn’t completely blew up in his face. Scorpius wouldn’t worry for a few days, so long as the Manor did its task and handed over the message. So long as his son was not caught in the cross-fire, then everything was still fine. Not going according to plan but fine enough for Draco to reassess.

Now, if his son was anxious he might involve Albus and in turn Harry Potter. Running away from danger was a Slytherin trait but not one most non-Slytherin’s understood. Gryffindor might call it cowardice. They didn’t understand Draco was well equipped to deal with the threat who thought to attack the Manor. He already knew who it was and what they were after. But involving the Ministry in anything Dark Artefacts related was a sure way for the Daily Prophet to lie and point fingers at Malfoys again. Scorpius had just managed to escape another year of being accused of being Voldemort's child.

“I’m going to call him Sugarlumps.”

Absolutely not. Draco gave the child a look and then his mother. Just in warning. He’ll peck that child's eyes out. Honest. He wasn’t bluffing and shrieked high enough for the boy to flinch. Stay away kid.

“Now, darling, I’m not sure you could have this one. You see that little tag there?” The witch pointed to a red label under Draco’s cage, “That means it’s a rescue. It’s probably not the best behaved. It might even bite you. Let’s look for one that’s easier to take care of.”

Draco would bite the child if it meant he wasn’t sold to someone who looked as if he wouldn't get five minutes alone. All he needed was to transform back, before he’d been ‘rescued’ he hadn’t done much in his owl form but eat and sleep. But if he was too aggressive, he doubted he would be bought. Too child-friendly and Sticky-Fingers were waiting for him.

“But I want this one. He’s pretty!”

Draco was a middle-aged man who didn't leave the house often. There should be no scenario a young boy was calling him pretty. Circe, he wanted out. So, to scare the child, Draco made an awful racket, flapping his wings in the very owlish manner of: piss off. The child was corralled over to the barn owls and Draco settled.

He relaxed as it seemed the next few customers were adults. And then Draco wept. Why by all that was good, was Potter and Weasley here? Maybe to warn the owner how awful this place smelled, the polish was giving Draco a right headache.

“We heard you had a owl attacked? Tortured?” Weasley spoke first meanwhile Potter looked around the shop like he hadn’t ever stepped into the place before.

“Wasn’t mine, Mary found ‘im outside a few days ago. Only the cruellest o’ people hurt owls. I didn’t want some sadist running around, y’know?” The old man pointed at Draco and instinctively he puffed up, trying to make himself bigger and in control of this situation. He was not.

He watched Harry look over him and Draco stilled. A terrible thought appeared. What if Harry could tell he was a human in animal form? The amount of ridiculous notions and feats Harry Potter showed the world made Draco panic a little. What if the Ministry knew? Why else would a Senior Auror and the Head of the bloody department be here over an attack on an owl?

“Dark magic? Are you sure?” Harry hadn’t bothered to look away. So Draco ducked his head, shuffled on his stand and wished the two would leave.

“Definitely, Mary was sick. Can’t stand being near it. Poor thing was in a state when she found it. Left wing was shattered. Don’t think it’ll fly for a while.”

Draco’s gut fell, he couldn’t fly? The cool air under his wings was only a memory, is that what he was hearing? That wasn't fair. He enjoyed the freedom for an hour or so, watching over the Manor from above and keeping an eye on those around it. Now, now he was stuck in that house again with no real way to anonymously fly around without wasting time on potion brewing and paying others to leave him be -- Rita would never do such a thing.

“Hey, you just need to fly to get strength back. You’ll be good as new soon enough.” The fact Harry Potter, defeater of the strongest Dark Wizard known in British History, was trying to cheer a wounded owl up was… Uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable as Draco hooted back at him to shut up. Then the idiot just smiled back as if somehow Draco was agreeing with him. Of course, Potter confused agreements with the sentiments of ‘leave me alone’.

“If anyone buys him. Got a serious distrust of humans now. Can’t sell it to kids that’s for sure.”

“Can’t really blame him, eh?” Weasley’s attention was thankfully on the old man and his valiant rescue of Draco. And Mary’s involvement in mending him for a few days. Mary was a shop assistant and she had most certainly done more than what he said. Draco remembered her keeping him warm in her robes as she rushed him here, her voice a steady stream of platitudes and promises of treats.

Draco would have to send her something as a thanks.

“Mary! Harry Potter is here! Can you take out the Australian Mask? They’d like to check it over,” The old man yelled behind the desk. Draco was certain no one else could hear the way Mary’s footsteps changed in sound. Suddenly she was heavy in step, like her feet were stomping on the floorboards - was she trying to power walk downstairs? Draco hooted a laugh. Harry smiled at him again and Draco lowered himself further. Damn it. Just go Potter.

Mary was a short, plump woman much older than Draco was and seemed to smile more. Draco imagined she was the type of woman who thought of every positive thing before a negative. Her eyes and mouth were wrinkled by a life of full smiles. She marched straight over to Draco’s cage.

“Now, now, they’re just here to make sure you’re okay.” Mary opened the cage and placed a hand in, thick glove on already. Draco could smell several other birds on it. Gross. But he gave a tentative look to her before hopping onto it as Mary took the rope inside and held onto it with the other. He made sure not to squeeze too hard. Didn’t want to hurt the old woman.

“Let’s have a look at that wing.” Draco didn’t move, keeping calm as Mary opened up his left wing. It twinged near the joint and Draco fluttered his right wing to stop from falling off. He didn’t like this. He really didn’t like this. Harry had stepped forward and Draco could feel Mary tighten the leather rope on his leg. Nope. No, no, he wasn’t letting Potter touch him.

“Calm down, pet. He’s not going to hurt you.” Mary said and Draco tried to still the panic.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to touch you, okay?” Harry said and his magic on Draco’s feathers wasn’t too bad. Draco wanted to restart the day. The bell above the door rang and another potential customer arrived. Draco knew that one too and with as much force as he could achieve despite his injuries, bit into Mary’s arm and flapped, trying desperately to fly away. The man walked with a swagger, held a cocky expression that said to Draco.

‘Found you.’

Without waiting, he had his wand out and aiming at Draco. Weasley, dumb as he was, still had his back turned and talking with that incessant gossip. Why not paint a target on everyone's back? This was the worst. Mary, bless her, kept a hand on Draco but now he couldn’t dodge any incoming spells. So he squawked and cried, looked Potter straight in the eye and then back at the approaching threat.

‘Behind you, you idiot.’

That made things happen.

Potter and Weasley were the same age as Draco and admitting they could still move fast when the time was necessary was about as nice a thing Draco could conjure up. They did their job. Not that Draco was ungrateful with their protection. But he was definitely unhappy with their protection. If he wasn’t stuck here, he’d be able to change. But the problem remained was: no one could know he was an animagus and as such he had to act like a typical owl.

“What are you on? Why attack the bird?” Weasley asked the question and Draco distracted himself with cooing over Mary’s wound. He didn’t meant to hurt her so much, he had thought a nip would have had her throwing him away. The woman was hardier than she looked.

Draco watched the attacker, a man Draco knew to be the son of Giannini Quartz; a 'blood-traitor' at the turn of the war. But his greed was well known and sending his child to steal, kill and maim made Draco wish he was human, just so he could curse the disgusting worm. Moran only a few years on Scorpius but looked about a decade older, his skin scarred and leathery from what seemed like potion abuse.

“It’s alright, you just got a fright, didn’t you? Didn’t mean it, I know you didn’t.” Mary gave Draco a pet on the head which he awkwardly accepted if only it meant Mary wasn’t bitter about healing him and being so generous. He had to send her something now. Harry was red in the face and yelling, demanding to know what -- who on earth goes into a shop with Aurors already inside and commits a crime in front of them? Trying to kill an owl, what maddening potion had he ingested?

Draco took his time to surmise what must have happened back at the Manor. They knew nothing of the Dark Artefacts, those that stayed in the Manor with wards of their own concealing and sheltering them. Now, if Draco were to guess Moran: he was about an eight out of ten for stupidity. What, did he think killing Draco would release the wards or switch their allegiance? Poor boy. Life must seem very hard in that head of his. 

Moran decided not to say a word, even with the grand Harry Potter there. Weasley left, apparating with the moron. Draco assumed he was one of the two who had seen him fly from the window. Now, whether or not the rest of them had information on Draco’s animal form was anyone’s guess. He hoped they were too stupid to bother informing everyone in their group. Or greedy. Moran had that in spades, if only because he was the type of man to take all the spades as to hinder everyone else and dig himself a hole. Never mind how unnecessary it all was.

Mary gave him another few pats, ones that Draco didn't want to accept, especially when Harry noticed. Self-conscious again Potter knew he was hiding, he hooted Mary's hand away. 

“The bird’s evidence, then? We spent a lot of time and money on him.”

Two spells and some raw meat, yes, Draco was sure the Emporium would never recover for its loss.

Mary kept the rope loose and Draco stayed close by. He wanted to say sorry, but all he did was hoot and have his feathers fall as flat as he could. He shouldn’t have hurt her. The woman who had saved him days ago. He let her then, touch his sore wing and stayed put even as Harry reappeared, looking at the damage.

“We’ll make sure you’re compensated.” Harry sounded off, as if he wasn’t enjoying speaking about how powerful and fantastic the Aurors were now under his eye. Really, another Dark Wizard caught and Potter sounded like he was going to a funeral.

“If you’re going to be taking him from here, you need to know how to handle a traumatised bird like this. He needs to get used to human contact again. Handle him at least once a day, unless he’s stressing out too much. But he needs time to fly, get the muscles back.” Draco couldn’t ignore the fact someone just tried to waltz into the shop and kill him. Clearly, Mary was in danger with him being here. Potter wasn’t his first pick to leave with but it was a necessity now. Draco had to change back fast.

“On you go, love.” She tried to put him back in the cage and with one last attempt at an apology, Draco nuzzled against her arm before jumping back inside.

Another half hour and Harry was loaded up on information and left with a grim look on his face. Draco wasn't too happy at the noise of Diagon Alley either, but he wasn't going to complain right now. Potter better leave him in a room alone for an hour or two so he could check the Manor and return just in case. Having Potter as a glorified bodyguard wasn't the worst backup plan.

“I didn’t think I was going to leave with another owl,” Harry muttered and Draco hadn’t a clue why he thought leaving the owl emporium with an owl was so awful. He was the most beautiful owl ever to grace that emporium. As such Potter simply had no taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not typically in the HP fandom but a friend is in need of some Drarry stuff to help with some super down days and these kinda fics always make her smile. Happy to make her happy. So, here you are KT, hope you feel better. ;D
> 
> Everyone else, I hope I haven't murdered some obvious HP-fandom rules. (Eek, have mercy!). If I have do let me know and I will offer sacrifices for your forgiveness! I'll make changes post-haste. 
> 
> I'm planning on posting once a week. Also, not a clue what this will turn into. Really, could be a few chapters of fluff of unrealistic proportions and time skips or a proper epic that has taken my soul. So, see you on the 19th.


	2. Scorpius

Rude. That’s what Potter was. He ignored the smiling receptionist, the young Unspeakable that tried (and failed) to bring him a coffee. But most of all, the witches and wizards around the Auror department were barmy. The way they bustled around and yet managed to keep away from Potter by a few yards was impressive, if not concerning. Tracking down Dark Wizards must’ve caused them to suspect any behaviour out of the ordinary as outright wrongdoing. They smiled and greeted Potter, typical fanfare but Draco watched as their expressions dimmed, darkened and turned to scowls before they scampered away. Unexpected, Draco thought Potter was well respected with his Dark Wizard extermination record. Perhaps, he was ignoring the tossers for a reason after all.

As he was settled on what he could only guess as Potter’s office, a rickety old desk with a mountainous load of paperwork. |The occasional paper appeared in the form of a swan, nose diving into the pile and unravelling itself. Most Aurors looked at Draco with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. When Harry came into their view they went back to keeping their heads down and shoulders up. Was Potter a slave driver now so feared by the witches and wizards who wanted an early night? Draco brushed his wing again, trying to reason that the old fart was wrong. He would soar. He wasn’t grounded.

The first Auror to brace themselves was a witch with an upturned nose and a walk as if she was on a mission no one would stop her from completing.

“Mr. Potter, I believe today is your day off.“ She stood outside as if daring to come into the office of one Harry Potter was offensive. Ha, Draco rolled his head to the side and wished he could scoff. The Ministry gave the impression they wanted Potter here twenty-four seven. A few years after the war and all the Daily Prophet had ran was story after story of Potter and Weasley and their successful capture of Dark Wizards and Witches. Justice got dull by the ninth issue.

“I’m just here to get the paperwork for this,” said Harry, motioning towards Draco as if he was a suspect. Cheers, just blame the owl, what an arse. Draco wasn't sure how often live specimens were added to the 'evidence' locker but if Potter could hurry up and hide him away, he wasn't going to complain about morality. If he did manage to transform back, he would need a reasonable explanation on why he, Draco Malfoy was coming out of a locker. That might be trickier to explain away considering most Aurors loathed his presence.

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Potter.” The woman seemed vastly over anxious for whatever it was she was going to ask Potter to do. This was a man who’d saved Draco’s skin twice. The bloody Gryffindor.

“It’s best for you to return home. To rest,” she added in afterthought, “Sir.”

Harry had stilled, Draco couldn’t see his face but he knew after so many school years that The Boy Who Lived was no doubt flaring his nostrils like a thestral going by that ramrod straight posture. Draco’s laughter escaped in a series of drawn out hoots.  Go on, make this as entertaining as possible.

“I’m perfectly fine, Abbie.” Harry’s voice was strained as if he was trying. Which was laughable really, Harry was the kind of man the press called passionate because he couldn’t stop the temper tantrums. “If that’s all?”

“Yes, Sir. Excuse me.” Abbie did not look pleased as she retreated back to a cubicle. No one ever looked happy in the Ministry so a moot point but this atmosphere was closer to working near Umbridge than a celebrity. Harry shut the door, leaving Draco to check to see if Potter was going to start yelling in private.

Whatever office dynamics were present in the Auror department, Draco had no time for it. He needed to find time alone, without peering eyes and change back. Then check on Scorpius, though he was no longer a child in need of coddling, if Scorpius ever came to harm he would never forgive himself. His son, at times, was the only thing that kept him going. The plan had only allowed a few days of him disappearing, Three days he'd been under Mary's care, three days of Scorpius being told wait and no reason as to why.

He was an intelligent boy but not very patient.

Harry all but collapsed onto his seat and sighed, face scrunched up. Draco wondered if he looked that old but no, he wore his years with more grace. Like the insult was heard, Harry jolted to life and scrawled on the official documents in a manner Draco wouldn’t have done even as a child. After a time of scratching, pausing to bite the damned quill, he huffed to a stop in a flourish Draco hadn't thought him capable since school.

Scorpius wouldn't wait for much longer. As a well known fact: Scorpius had told Albus about him missing. Whether the two were bashing their heads together to figure it out or whether Albus was simply letting Scorpius fret was neither here nor there. Draco had to return soon or else. The Dark Artefacts were by in large abandoned and he wouldn't put it passed another bunch to try their luck in stealing them.

The Rings of Celius were powerful and needed to be kept from everyone's hands. Maybe he should have told Scorpius to destroy them if he didn't reappear within the time frame. Plan B’s were in place but none considered Draco captured in a literal gilded cage.

“Why didn’t your owner register you? Right. You need a name.” Harry scratched his neck and Draco hoped he’d put more time into coming up with a name than what mess he’d made of that form.  If Harry decided on Sugarlumps, Draco would murder Potter right here.

“Owliver? Owlton?”

Draco would apologise to Albus, he was going to kill his father. He refused to believe he’d been degraded to a pun. This should count as abuse, made illegal and have an Azkaban sentence carried alongside it. Potter was the worst.

Harry smiled back, “Okay, okay, settle. I was kidding!” He waved Draco down and indeed Draco calmed from his wild flapping. Only because the jarring idea that prolonging this situation was too much. Get on with it, Potter. He flicked through files which sat high and in disarray on his desk and Draco couldn’t believe the idea he was about to be named over either a victim or a perpetrator.

Maybe it was fitting.

“Fornax?”

Draco hooted. It wasn’t the worst. It also wasn’t very good but Draco really needed to move this conversation on.

“Okay, Fornax, you’re written up. I’ll take you back to mine. I doubt anyone would find you then.”

Draco was quiet as he watched everyone relax as Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World left. Potter didn't acknowledge a single person on his way to the Floos and no one regarded this with any ire. But Draco noticed the way Potter’s magic flared just as he got to the fireplace and how a witch ahead of the queue flinched.

Travelling in a human body was disorientating. Travelling as a bird with senses greater than that of the typical wizard was excruciating. A flurry of colours burning into his head, a swirling sense of vertigo and the terrible sound of Harry arriving and landing in his own Floo.

Draco should have closed his eyes and kept them shut for the remainder of his stay.

Potter’s home was a mess. Never mind Draco knew this wasn’t the home he shared with his wife or the one where his children were reared and taught. Where was this and why had Potter returned to bachelor behaviour that didn’t show any responsibility for anyone, including his own person? What was that smell?

What was going on with Potter? Did the Weaslette leave him? Why the animosity among his staff?

These questions were not important. What was important was Potter to disappear for an hour or so, allow Draco to leave and return to the Manor and check on the Dark Artefacts in his home. Then he could round up the morons who didn’t know how old wizarding houses worked. Did they not realise they were not just an alarm? The only error on Draco’s part was someone had seen his animagus form and that was easily solved by refuting it in a certain manner. His wand was back at the Manor. No one would assume Draco Malfoy Ex-Death Eater would want to change himself into a damned owl and leave his wan to boot. They probably expected him to appear as a Dementor.

The last spell cast was an _Incendio_.

First, Draco gave his feathers a proper groom because he had standards. Even if Potter's had clearly dropped into overflowing sinks with as many dishes as possible. The pain in his wing was a resounding ouch, swollen at a joint and sore to move. News of him being flightless over this injury was concerning but transforming back into a human would take little time and even less to brew a potion or cast a spell to relieve him of a human injury.

The lack of acknowledgement meant Draco could peck at the latch on his leg. Undoing the leather knot was difficult with only a beak. Twisting his head this way and that, pulling and pecking it finally fell away.

Harry was bizarre. A fact Draco saw behind bars for an hour. He’d sit and zone out. Draco knew that look. It was the one everyone had back when the war was still fresh and the wounds had no time to scab. The haunted look reminded Draco of his youth, his terribly played out youth. If he had a choice, Draco wasn’t going to think back to that moment in time. If he looked back he would remember Astoria. Her laugh and smile. Not how much of a naive moron, led by fear and panic and the instilled ideal he was better and greater than everyone else. He was better than everyone else. Just for different reasons than his Father had known.

Bored, not curious, Draco cried out to gain attention. Potter ignored him or more likely didn’t hear him.

Draco did not do ‘ignored’.

He made a horrible shriek and took enjoyment from the jump Harry made out of his skin. Potter rubbed his face with his hands, “I’m fine. I'm fine.” The hearing of an owl was impeccable and so Draco knew they were words to soothe a frantic mind than for soothing of precious ‘Fornax’.

Merlin, was Potter ill? It wasn't contagious was it?

“Okay, okay. I’ll set up the post.”

Draco expected magic, even it floating over the cage and maybe, giving him a curious prod depending on what sort of spells Potter decided on. What he got was Potter not making a move for his wand and just waving his hand. Like magic was easy enough to-- Did Potter just-- That-- all wandless? What was this? What kind of  _party trick_ was this? What even kind of power did--

The owl perch from the Emporium stuck itself together piece by piece and not once did Draco hear Potter speak, see his wand or even look focused. Draco shrieked again at the injustice of it all. Potter doing more miraculous nonsense, of bloody course. Why couldn’t he be an impotent hermit who couldn’t levitate a feather?

Magic in the air tingled over his sore wing and for a second Draco was trapped in the memories of being hit from behind. Of falling out of the sky in a tailspin, hearing the crowd make noise, his own screams of panic intertwined with the owls cries, and the ever warm blood that soaked into his feathers. He'd tried his best not to break his neck and landed terribly on his wing, feathers decorated the cobblestone of Diagon Alley.

Mary had been the only one to take action, covering Draco with the very cloak she had. Under no illusions, Draco was certain he wouldn't have bothered. He might think it a damn shame or shoo Scorpius away in case the kid got involved in something less than ideal. But no, Draco would have left himself to die. Odd, when he thought it like that.

He'd buy Mary a new cloak, one without the remnants of owl blood.

Potter opened the cage. Gilded and polished it must have cost a pretty Galleon but it wasn’t fun to be inside, with no space to fully spread his wings. Not waiting for a prompt or any order from Harry - he could try and Draco wondered if it would be too suspicious if he did the exact opposite of what Harry asked of him - he flew over to the post. Petty, certainly, Draco knew he was and having Harry order him around was not happening, owl form or not.

The Floo roared to life. Draco knew something was terribly wrong with Scorpius the second his face appeared in the green fire.

“Scorpius? What can I do for you?" Harry orbited the fire, behaviour that made Draco think he might actually be embarrassed about this mess.

"I - it might be best to talk in person. If that's okay with you, Mr. Potter." Scorpius sounded too distressed and in turn, Draco paced on his stand. When he arrived Scorpius didn’t so much as glance at the horrendous conditions. How often did Scorpius go to Potter for advice? What was wrong? Why was his son here? Why hadn’t he said something on Potter’s strange living conditions? Albus was the only linking factor, and it was possible, probable, Scorpius promised to never speak of - this -  it to anyone. Fine. Draco wasn’t going to be angry over his kid having friends who knew he could keep secrets.

"Have you seen my father lately?"

"I haven't seen him in months.”

Scorpius unleashed an array of panic ranting, a telling sign he’d worked himself into this state. Over three days, Draco was supposed to be back by now. Guilt weighed more heavily than anything else.

"He's missing. I found his wand in the study - it was on fire. The desk was on fire. All his work - just gone and now he is too and he left his wand! How is he supposed to protect himself?"

No reference to a note. More than worrying but now edging towards the most likely scenario. Scorpius shouldn’t be so freaked out if Draco’s message got to him. The Manor hadn’t done its job and it prickled at his mind. Why bloody not?

"Okay, calm down. Let's start from the beginning. You found his wand?"

Annoying how easily his wand passed hands, Draco watched carefully. Was Potter going to use more wandless magic now?

" _Prior Incantato_.” The air became hotter and Draco sneezed as magic wrote itself in the air, dust burning. “Sounds like he destroyed his own work." Just as Draco planned, nothing would hint at his escape. Most would assume apparation.  

"The wards were down, seven people forced their way through the threshold. It's not some prank that he's decided to leave without a word." Scorpius snapped, he may have heard the thinking Potter and confused it with the dismissive. Not anything Draco could blame the boy for: Potter thinking was rare.

When he did, it was usually on point.

"I didn't say it was.” Harry stared at the word, ‘ _Incendio’,_  that clung to the air. “If he destroyed the work himself, it means he took steps to make sure they didn't get what they wanted. So it’s possible that he knows who they were or why they attacked the Manor in the first place."

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

"What was he working on?"

"Just some theory on some of the magic items we have,” Draco didn’t miss the slight wince on his son’s face and he was sure neither did Harry, "The Dark ones, not sure which,” Scorpius said after a time. If Draco had a list of what he didn’t like witnessing it was Scorpius in pain or uncomfortable because all he remembered was the kid who never strayed far and ducked his head low to try to ignore the whispers of his ‘real’ lineage. The one who cried at night wondering if he’d been bad.

Harry and Scorpius stood awkwardly together as Draco’s wand was returned and all Potter did was fold his arms and strain himself. Recognition dawned on Scorpius’ face.

"That's your owl?" Scorpius’ voice shot higher and Draco bristled. That meant he was surprised and intrigued and those were never a good combination. Draco had thought he had managed to remain mostly unseen to everyone, including his son.

"Excuse me? No, no. You've seen it before?" Igniting Harry’s interest was not safe. This was spiralling out of Draco’s control.

Harry didn’t stop Scorpius from coming over and hovering close to the post. Draco was well accustomed to the expression of Scorpius wanting to coo and pet over an animal. The day Draco refused to buy a crup was a war in itself. Tears, snot, screaming - Draco wanted that day to end then because he had considered he was being an awful father, worse than his own. The first few months of Astoria’s death was rough on both of them.

"It keeps near the Manor though I've never seen it in the Owlery. Never seen it with letters either." Scorpius didn’t try anything, but Draco knew he was assessing how sore a bite from an owl was versus how soft their feathers were.  

"It was attacked by Dark Wizards."

"That doesn't seem like a coincidence."

"No." Potter looked away, frowning into the Floo and Draco wished he could apparate. "It doesn't.” The paranoia returned as Potter glared. At him. Potter couldn’t possibly know, couldn’t possibly work this out.

"I'll come with you to the Manor, check things out."

Scorpius had brightened considerably and Draco felt soothed by it. Distressing him was never a point in the plan. Why hadn’t the Manor done what he had asked of it? Perhaps those who attacked were smarter than the average thug. Draco would need to deal with this now. If the Manor’s magics were deteriorating then the Artefacts wouldn’t be secure for long.

Timing, this could all have went smoother. But for Potter to go to the Malfoy Manor then the Floo was the only way. Albus was the only Potter allowed to apparate in and out as he pleased. By that extension, it seemed the Potters agreed and Scorpius seemed to disappear and reappear as he pleased.

Soon as Potter and Scorpius stood in the Floo, Draco swooped forward. But the Manor’s wards disliked them, and Draco could hear the pitched whine at the three of them arriving in his foyer.

Grime and soot covered his feathers now. But Draco had a mission, make sure to appease Scorpius’ worry. His wing ached and by the time he fluttered to the ground he admitted his time of flying grand open areas were over. Walking wasn’t the quickest but it gave time for Draco to squash his own worry over his injury. Three days was a long time for a wizarding owl to be injured. What spell had that idiot cast on him?

Scorpius watched him with renewed interest. Good. He hooted for Scorpius to follow.

"Where are you going?" he asked but must have known it odd for him, Fornax, to wish to go to the study. The place where his father was last, where his wand was hidden and documents gone.

Draco left the letter up the study’s own fireplace. One which should have released it and sent it straight to Scorpius as it was asked. If it hadn’t, then Draco needed to know if his house wasn’t listening or simply could not follow the order. All one person had to do was look up the chimney or send a fireball or two and it was gone.

Now, the study looked much different from how he had left it. The study itself was no longer on fire. But the wall fashioned into bookcases were emptied and their contents strewn about the room. Journals of potions and benign ingredients were ruined and thrown around. His desk once the very centrepiece, a mere shadow of itself with burnt handles and a mass of ash being its other half. They’d certainly tried to look for Draco’s now-destroyed notes.

He waddled to the fireplace, looked up and gave a scream at the house. The letter was still there! What did the Manor think it was doing ignoring an order? How dare it ignore him. What did it think it was doing? Draco tried, once then twice then three times to hop up, fly and push himself high enough to catch the letter. His wing was agony and he yelled at the fireplace to let the letter go. It did not listen.

Harry had followed, quiet, and that was unsettling. So, Draco edged away from the watchful eyes of an Auror with more than a decades experience and hid under the half-desk. Potter wouldn’t figure this out. He shouldn’t figure this out. Draco wouldn’t hear the end of this.

The fact it was Potter who checked the fireplace first and not Scorpius irked. It was Scorpius’ home, he had found the wand too. No, if Potter had the letter, then it was possible he could assume what was best and hide it from Scorpius. Or just take it from him. No. No. That wouldn’t do at all.

Potter wasn’t expecting Fornax to hop up onto the table and try again to swoop. It failed. Draco failed, as much as the letter was in his beak and Potter was (hilariously) shocked at a random owl barrage, Draco fell. Fell out of the air as if he was a creature that wasn’t meant for it. He expected to crash into Manor’s marble, the cold and harsh ground of centuries built. He wished he had smashed into it. Knocked himself out so he didn’t need to process that Potter had grabbed him with that - utterly ridiculous - magic and levitated him.

And everything else. When he noticed even Scorpius, every damn book and every loose page was up in the air, Draco was livid, floating in the air and unable to move. That bastard.

“Sorry.” Harry said, looking uncomfortable (but not near enough what he would look like after Draco pecked his eyes out). How dare he use magic on his son. But Scorpius shrugged it off, as if it was an everyday occurrence for wandless, wordless magic to be cast in such a way.

“Dad used to shatter the china after mum died for a while.”

Wait. Was Ginny Potter ill? Dying? No, Draco was sure Hermione would have said something.

The magic diminished slowly, Harry couldn’t just switch it off. It took a few minutes for his talons to touch the ground but he was no longer enraged. He knew what Astoria had cost him: years of moping in private and wanting to be left alone. He didn’t wish that on anyone. Still, he would remind his son uncontrollable magic was dangerous regardless of the moral compass it came from.

"It must have sensed an unsent letter." Scorpius squatted down and Draco dropped the letter. It tasted like ash but all he could smell was Potter. That magic of his was insufferable. "It's from dad!"

Scorpius read the letter aloud, enthusiasm waning as he went: "The Manor isn't safe. Stay away until I find you. Take what you need. Don't trust Boris."

"Who's Boris?"

Boris wasn’t anyone, anymore. The man once called Boris Boon was no longer welcome in the British Wizarding World. Draco had seen his true face, one he’d tried to hide in order to befriend Scorpius. All so he could pilfer from the Manor. Well, try to, and even then Draco was being generous. Only a twenty-something idiot and the Manor had rejected him as soon as he’d neared the Dark Artefacts. Idiot didn’t realise Scorpius was a trusting soul but he wasn’t stupid. These days mentioning Boris only meant one thing.

"It's..." Scorpius paused, regarded Draco again, "Advice from before. I think he wrote it to try to lighten the mood. Stop me from being too worried."

Sadly, Scorpius was a terrible liar. Potter showed patience, not reproaching him as soon as the lie hit the air.

"Hiding things doesn't make investigating easier."

"I know and I'm not! It's just a private matter." Scorpius stuffed the parchment into his pocket. Harry didn’t push, for whatever reason and looked around the office. Begrudgingly, Draco admitted he probably knew enough to piece together that the message had a double meaning and not one Scorpius would give up without a fight. Going by the way Potter’s magic rumbled through the Manor’s wards, it was enough to know Scorpius wouldn’t stand a chance if Harry really wanted the answer.

Scorpius looked at him then glanced at Harry’s back, before he mouthed the word ‘Dad’.

Emotion fluttered inside him, knowing Scorpius had figured it all out. He hooted twice. The boy might have involved Potter but it was a Malfoy motto that family was first in all things. Scorpius wouldn’t say a word because now he knew Draco was safe.

“You’re the most adorable owl I’ve ever seen.”

Scorpius laughed even as Draco puffed up, ego bruised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading and anyone who gave a kudos/bookmark. Much love to you!


	3. Malfoy's Blunder

If anyone thought Potter’s life was a whirlwind of drama and action then Draco would rewrite the report he slept on the couch, half eaten toast - more charcoal than bread - smooshed under his shoulder. At last, he was asleep, a few words punctuating his garbled noises. Nightmares or not, Draco needed Potter to stay as unconscious as possible for as long as possible.

Returning here had terrible repercussions. Potter had wandered around the Manor, Draco had to admit he’d lost track that Harry was even there. A fact Draco blamed on his owl form, keen to seek out everything that moved and go for a single, focussed, target than multiples. Scorpius and the intruders were on his mind more than the nosey pillock but now it dawned on him Potter might believe ‘Fornax’ was not a normal owl.

First and only thing Draco would do in this house was to find a room to change out of this form. His wing ached worse than ever and he was hopeful to apparate out of this skip. He hopped off the post, Potter not bothering to re-secure him was a choice. One Draco knew was spawned by curiosity than ownership. Did he really think Fornax was just a regular owl? Draco hadn’t thought too much into the manners of owls before. The longest in this form was six hours. It was nearing the fourth day.

The bathroom was down the hall, Draco found it fit his needs well enough. A lock, considering Draco wandless wouldn’t stop an incredibly curious Harry Potter, but it would give him some time. Potter wasn’t keen to clean his place, but putting holes and tearing doors of their hinges seemed below even his new reluctance. So, Draco was content to morph back into his human form.

Magic crawled over him, his brown speckled wings stretching for only a moment before a blood-curdling scream escaped and Draco’s wing flared in pain most dark. The only way to stop it was to stop the transformation.

‘No! You bloody bastards!’

They had not just been aware of his animagus form - they had waited for him to turn. Damn it! Perhaps, his destruction of the notes really was all that was stopping them from stealing the rings right now. Was he stuck as an owl? No, he could turn back, he had to-- Again, Draco took a calming breath, trying as he might to ignore the thought of more pain. As soon as the magic twinged again, he stopped, falling like a stunned bird onto his face.

He was an owl. The magic did not respond on his third or fourth attempt. His fifth or sixth and Draco wondered how he couldn’t see how coincidentally the fools had opened fire only after Draco flung himself out of a window.

The Master and Owner of the Malfoy Manor… was an owl.

He had to tell Potter he was trapped. An ordinary owl could understand language very well. But they couldn’t write and so Draco knew to convince Harry of this, he’d have to write with his feet. Make an arrow, write his first name and that would be it done. Potter would ask Granger how to fix him and all would be well.

Squeaking as it opened, the bathroom door revealed Harry’s bright eyes - which didn’t look as if he’d been asleep at all - the hair did, as if he’d woke up two minutes before, that hadn’t changed. Draco was forever grateful for the owls ability to turn its head in such a manner as he tried again, to look as unimpressed with Harry’s interruption in his crisis as possible.

“You’re a very weird owl, Fornax. What are you doing in here? Did you fall?”

Draco twitched his feet, pain threatened to reappear and so he stayed perfectly still waiting for his own magic to ease away. The curse itself, some form of binding spell perhaps, maybe. If he had looked back at the wizard who cast it. It would make this much easier to guess but Draco had flew away, content and ignorant.

Damn it. Draco twisted his head back to the cool floor. At least this was comforting, this non-marble, non-cobblestone ground. The curse was on his left wing, he was sure of it. The pain was severe there for days. Leaching into the rest of him like an owed favour.

“Come on you,” Harry said, grabbing a towel from the radiator as he knelt down to scoop him up.

This was awful (the towel was fluffy and warm and not so awful and soothed the sharp pains that ran up his legs and down his wings). But Potter cooing over him was not on.

The toast had smooshed into Harry’s shoulder quite well.

Carried back to the living room - or Harry’s makeshift bedroom, Draco let out some shrieks of annoyance. Not in pain but a reminder to Potter he could still bite his fingers off. He was set down on the coffee table and Draco didn’t take too kindly with the image of his own blood on the towel.

“You did hurt yourself!” Harry actually looked hurt himself.

Draco pecked at his wing a little, pulling out a feather before Potter got overly concerned and pushed his hand over the spot. As if Draco wouldn’t bite the damned thing.

“No, don’t do that - I’ll have a look.”

Blood on his feathers was hard to sense like the first snow falling on hair - he didn’t really know it was there unless he looked in a mirror or it was heavy enough. Blood was warm but with such a condensed and thick assortment of feathers, Draco didn’t feel the blood as much as the pinching pain around his skin.

Potter pushed and moved feathers aside, in a way that was painful. Curiosity held him there, not to make a noise and to watch Potter’s face to see if he knew what the wizard cast upon him.

“This wasn’t here before...” Draco heard Harry’s words and hooted a swear. He should have known it was taking too long for his wing to heal. A curse, one set off when an animagus tried to transform back. The end result? Draco had no idea.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up.”

Potter being nice to him was weird, uncomfortable and awkward. And it was all on Draco’s part because Potter was just fixing up a wounded owl like Mary, he was just doing his job: to keep a piece of evidence safe from the scum of the Wizarding World. That set a series of ideas off - Harry had no idea Draco was the bird. Harry had no idea he was being ridiculous over the health of Draco and when, if, he ever found out--

Harry had shown mercy twice. What told Draco that he’d give it a third? The man ran a department that didn’t cut (bureaucratic) corners (now). What wasn’t to stop Harry throwing him to Azkaban for being unregistered? Revealing himself as in control of his sentience was a point against the defense he’d been forcibly transformed by someone else.

No. Draco would handle this himself, like he’d done before.

Potter actually produced his wand for spellcasting this time.

“ _Episkey_.”

Magic that was ‘Dark’ had an edge of pain towards everything, a sense of wrongness and weight that didn’t happen with most spells. Funnelling in negative emotions, worse experience and traumatic memories all culminated into a casting that would fail or turn wicked.

The magic didn’t even take more than a second to surround Draco and for him to notice it was just that - wrong. The healing spell set off waves of breath-interrupting, just-screaming torture. Owl or not, Slytherin or not, Draco dived under the couch with a sound he was sure he’d never make again.

“I’m so sorry, that - that was supposed to--” Harry scrambled after him, but whatever useless apologies was on his lips didn’t make it over a constant buzzing noise in the air.

‘Stay away, Potter!’ Draco shrieked again, though couldn’t tell how fierce or bold his attempt was. Everything was dark, the sound louder and his skin on fire so much so each feather that touched it set off another cascade.

A madman was what he was. Mad as a bag of weasels! The spinning of the room shunted his balance violently with each step and Draco shut his eyes, the vertigo too much to deal with along with a wing that might just fall off. Or be pecked off because right now, it was the pain-free path.

Potter tried to coax him out. Draco could hear him now, a chant of apologises that didn’t make anything better. Everything hurt. When the floorboards under his own talons thudded, he peeked out to see Potter at the Floo. Distressed didn’t give the man’s stricken expression justice, he was paler than he’d ever seen him - and everyone thought him dead that time.

“Hermione, I need you over here.”

“Harry? You look pale. Is everything alright?”

“I just hurt an owl by mistake.”

Hermione might have replied, she might not have but another skull splinting sound made Draco hide further away - it was the Floo’s magic this time that set off another ripple of pain all over.

“He’s hiding under the couch.”

“This the one who had a wizard try to kill it while you and Ron were in the shop?” Draco heard Hermione walk closer only to be greeted by her as she flattened a cheek to the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken with her - a discussion on house elves perhaps - or some other magical creature - it wasn’t a problem regardless on which. But Draco didn’t like seeing Hermione’s face, it reminded him too much of everything he used to be and think he was.

“Yeah, yeah been cursed. It was bleeding, I cast an Episkey spell.” Potter sounded terribly upset over this and if he was Slytherin back in the day, Draco would have thought it an act.

Hermione cooed and him and he edged away. Until Potter was calm, Draco wasn’t risking it. Under the couch was safe, for now. The owl part of him must have found more comfort in that logic and his feathers fell flat.

“Come on, little fella--” Granger received a sharp look and a threat to keep those fingers away.

“I think it might be Draco Malfoy’s.” Harry saying his name had Draco move forward a little, curious and also cautious to see if this was just a test. An elaborate plan to see if he had sentience. Potter co-ordinated plans with several departments, it wasn’t outside his capabilities.

“Why Draco’s?” Hermione saying his name was always… not fine. Her saying his name after everything just kept proving how much more of a mature adult she was than him. At no times did he ever think of her as - as the - as the term - from back when. But Granger was common for him to denounce her with, especially with the marriage with Weasley.

“His son is the only one it hasn’t tried to murder with a glare.”

“I am getting quite the fierce one, aren’t I?” Hermione laughed and Draco shuffled. He hadn’t been aware his emotions had shown in owl form. He’d never tried to communicated before this mess. Her laughing sounded a little too... close, if he was in his human form - he would have laughed with her.

Granger tried again, calling him and talking about how she’ll write a letter he could deliver - and Draco had to wonder how many owls were happy with the sheer expectation of flying around. He missed it terribly and he wasn’t born a bird. Just a coward.

“What are you--” Hermione looked back and as she sat on the heels of her feet, Draco lost sight of both their faces. “Harry, no one thinks you would have a cast a spell if you thought even for a second that it could hurt the poor thing.”

And then everything went quite nicely into Voldemort-crazy-land.

“I didn’t think, that’s the problem! I never think of this but it does it anyway!” The whole room rumbled, the mess on the floor wound up and twisted, wrung out till the seams of the clothing were ripped and thrown around the room. The glass in the cupboards shattered and everything that could count as a door or container burst open with such announcement Draco nearly passed out from the noise of them thudding against one another. “Why is this happening?”

Broken, that’s what Potter was. Why the Aurors had no need for their superior, why the magic with Scorpius was even possible. No one needed to look at his face to hear that Potter knew it too. Hermione did what no Slytherin would have done, she repaired, replaced and put back everything without a word passing between her or Potter. She was the only one talking for an eternity, speaking her incantations clearly and efficient. Harry didn’t appear to do anything but sulk against a wall and Draco had a thought to slap the moron on the back of the head and tell him it’s his anger that does this bullshit more than not. Sadness had a way of cracking, crinkling and shattering items but this--

Why wasn’t Ginny doing this? Where was she in this? What was this magical emotional mess? Scorpius spoke the truth back at the Manor but Draco’s magic had been on the china plates Astoria both cherished and loathed. He’d broken all but two dessert plates by the time he got a hang of his grief. A plate every few days then weeks, then a month or so, then another.

“There we go, nothing to worry about.” Hermione returned to where she was, trying to encourage dear ‘Fornax’ out of his hiding spot. “Now, this curse. Ron said there wasn’t anything wrong with it but a wing.” Draco wondered if Hermione would know what curse it was just with a glance.

It wasn’t as if Draco expected Harry to ignore the question and sulk more but it was how normal he sounded that was the alarm bell. Draco peeked out from beneath the couch to see what had calmed Potter down from yelling at a best friend despite her unconditional help to talking about the damn owl he’d ‘tortured’ twenty minutes ago. He edged forward again, trying to piece together what was going on with Potter without ‘Fornax’ being the centre of attention.

“The curse must have activated when he was in the bathroom a little while ago. He was in there, heard a noise and thought he fell or tried to fly about and maybe hit something.”

Ah, it was Potter’s Auror training, his face twisted and thinking hard on whatever question asked of him. Not dealing with whatever mess his head was in.

“Well, what activated it?”

“I have no idea.” Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Time?”

Magic had and now Draco knew for certain the hit on his shoulder hadn’t been a lucky shot but a planned and premeditated action. Damn it, they did - they actually got one over on him.

“I should hand this over to you and Ron to look after. Thing’s probably terrified of me now.”

Not to say Draco wasn’t freaked out at the sheer lack of control, no. It was the power and extent of Harry’s magic that was the fearing part. A wizard or witch out of control might burn a letter or set a curtain on fire. They did not attack the house in several different ways at the same time. What kind of power did Potter have? This was-- it was wrong to wield this kind of power.

Hermione held out a hand, a treat of meat on it and Draco ignored it. He wasn’t happy with this revelation, not keen to share the real situation with one of the smartest witches of his time -- not happy at all to be stuck because someone planned better -- but he had no intention of being passed over to Weasley. He’d stay here because if Harry’s lack of control counted for anything, it meant even if someone did appear to kill him. Potter wouldn’t even have to use his wand to defeat them. He might blow up the house in the process but Draco wasn’t against such revenge. If he had to go out as an owl, so be it but he wanted those who might cause his family harm out of the way too.

“Alright, I’m going to cast a diagnostic spell on him. That way we can find out if it’s just healing spells, or if it was just your magic, Harry.”

“No, it might hurt him again.” Draco had self-control, self-control that would stop him violently nodding his head to agree with one Harry bloody Potter.

“I’m not doing this to be cruel but if all magic directed to this owl results it any kind of pain then it’s most likely a bigger piece to your investigation than you realise. Why else put a timer-like curse on an owl that rejects healing magic?”

“They really want it dead.” Harry sounded like he wanted to cry and Draco decided he wanted Hermione to cast whatever spell it was. She didn’t have the correct activation method but she could help Draco know if his time as an owl would be limited severely. If this curse really did keep him as an animal and without the ability to heal even from other witches and wizards? This got too complicated too fast.

“It’s going to a really weak, little spell, okay. Promise.”

Draco closed his eyes, waited for the pain, the dizziness, that infernal noise but nothing happened. Magic touched on his wing and as much as he could tell, because it had been hurting thanks to Potter, it didn’t exacerbate it in any way. She really was the smarter one.

“It worked.” Hermione’s shock removed all admiration she’d built up over today.

“It worked.” Harry’s venom would make an adder blush.

“Harry, it doesn’t mean--” Granger stood up, but didn’t manage to say the rest in time.

“It doesn’t? I think if anything it shows exactly why--” the couch shook and Draco ducked under the coffee table, eager to hide from any stray magic just in case it set his curse off again.

“Harry!”

Draco stayed where he was, ignoring the arguing the best he could and hoping that Granger wouldn’t upset Potter. She left not ten minutes after with a huff and Harry yelling after her.

Potter needed help: why wasn’t his wife here?

Astoria’s illness had been rough and in turn so much as a cough had Draco want to whisk her away to some quiet place for her to rest. She wouldn’t have liked that very much, mind.

‘Oh, pull yourself together you miserable git.’ Draco had heard Harry mumble away to himself, trying to argue points made in his previous argument. No, he didn’t care for any of that at all. Potter should shut up with his petty replies and apparent ‘cruelty’ because honestly, the self-flagellation was already overdone.

Draco was stuck as an owl for now - and it seemed so long as no one tried to cast magic on him - then he was safe. Considering Potter’s reaction, how he avoided to be within the same room as him, this was an easily kept to condition.

Hours passed and now, Draco hated the idea he was seen as cheap, fragile china.

Years ago Draco would tell his son pranks were a waste of time, not when he could read something and learn a new wonder in the world. Right now, Draco waddled into the kitchen, peeked around the cabinet corner and watched Potter try and make tea while fighting off what could only be a nervous breakdown. Pain for pain sake, revenge was sweet and Slytherin ambition all played a key part in his decision.

So Draco bit Potter on the ankle and Potter yelled, spilled the tea down his side and battered his head off an overhead cabinet. Draco looked up at the ceiling and hooted in triumph. The Saviour ended up with his back to the wall and hit leg twisted over another as he tried to assess the damage.

“I probably deserved that.” He didn’t sound annoyed which took some of the fun out of the achievement. “My magic hurts people. Sorry.” For a second, Draco froze as it appeared Harry was going to try and pet him on the head only to back off at the last moment. The smile Potter wore reminded Draco of Scorpius -- when he’d asked that one time if he had been bad and why else would people not want their kids to talk to him? -- and Draco decided then, he couldn’t have hated Potter more.

He sat on his post and then the box came to life.

What was that? A series of photographs - but they didn’t register either Draco or Potter watching. Draco sat and watched both, the box with its strange images and Potter with some non-wand and tapping away and changing the images on his own. Potter settled on some pictures that dealt with food. Draco settled onto the back of the couch, changing the angle and twisting his head to the side. The image did not change like a photograph depending on where someone was in the room.

“You must be hungry. I haven’t seen you eat anything.”

Draco then only remembered he was supposed to eat and not once had a pang of hunger reminded him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't mentioned it before - but I'm aware owls have like no sense of smell and I have no idea if an animagus form animal is well... 100% accurate with that animal (like can Minerva see in slow motion in her cat form and not in full colour) or is it more like human senses in an animals body so... Minerva without the ninja fast reflexes as a cat? I have no idea. So yes, that's what I've been thinking about. It's probably some sort of mix between the two.
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3 I will see you all next week.


	4. Loopy & Potter

Potter did what he always seemed to when he noticed a problem. A whirlwind of action, far too undirected with no Weasley or Granger here to rudder the energy into something useful and so no difference in the outcome was made by midnight: Draco couldn’t eat. Whatever cuts of meat, carcasses of rodents or treats Draco tried promptly fell out of his mouth and slithered away itself. The back of his throat twinged each time. He couldn’t swallow the food but at the same time held no real distress over it - he wasn’t hungry, although eating was going to catch up sooner or later. The lack of returning to his human form was a more pressing matter. If Draco wasn’t in view to those fools soon enough - then Scorpius could be made priority. He was an adult now, accessing the family Vaults was nothing the goblins would find suspicious.

Or was Scorpius always the target? Was this curse just a way to keep him out of the way?

Either way, it was safe to surmise that Giannini Quartz probably knew about Draco’s animagus form well before he’d sent his son and his cronies into the Manor. A spell that made him unable to eat and begin once Draco tried to return wasn’t the greatest worry. The Rings of Celius were still in the house. Fake ones might sit in plain sight, beckoning the idiots to steal those two. Once they found out the fakes did nothing, then they’d return for the rings and -- if Draco wasn’t back in human form, Scorpius. That could not happen.

“You can’t keep spitting everything out.” Harry tried to scold him as he sat against the coffee table. Draco’s talons clicked on the glass as he took another look at the meat, wondering if this was all paranoia. Too many things pointed towards Moran and his men knowing not only his animagus but where he would be exactly during the home invasion. How could he explain that one? Luck? The very reason seven people hurtled into the house in succession? Not knowing was another strike against him. Against keeping Scorpius safe.

It wasn’t until the room shook again did Draco stop to see how terribly Potter was taking this. What was this guy’s deal with owls anyway? An owl not eating for a day was hardly noteworthy. Potter was taking it like a new personal failing. Potter tried to -- Draco wasn’t sure but he backed away from Potter’s hand. Harry stopped and sighed before turning back to the box. Music was playing from it and Draco had to admit Muggles were curious if not tone deaf. Why were people cooking? The box died then, whatever death not-spell the un-wand Harry forced upon it.

Potter could use magic, accidental or not and Draco glanced back at his face just to make sure no tantrums were on their way. Just so he knew if he had to jump under the couch again. Harry was thinking about something; Draco couldn’t be sure that was a positive on his part. Whatever stopped Harry from forcing a head scratch on Draco (annoying trait by the noisy patrons of the Emporium) was interrupted by the man jumping up to his feet, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get someone.”

Then he apparated.

Another person to prod and poke at him, fantastic. Just open up a show, sell tickets. Hermione wasn’t too bad but if it turned out Weasley or Longbottom he might die of embarrassment. The place still a mess and he was off trying to grab someone to come home and check out an owl that was too picky an eater. What kind of people put up with Potter?

Draco hopped onto the back of the couch again, clicked the same un-wand as Harry but was confused on how it didn’t rouse the box from its slumber. He tried again. Nothing. He wanted to see what happened to the cake. He’d missed three meals now, something Draco hadn’t even done as a Death Eater. Still not a grumble from his stomach.

Pop, pop, and Draco turned around to see if his fate lay with Longbottom or Weasley.

It was neither.

“--an Australian--” Harry was cut off.

“No he isn’t. They don’t have grey eyes,” Luna said as she slipped off a thick scarf. Draco didn’t want to seem too excited at seeing her, not if he was going to blame this later on not having any sentience or memory of this whole debacle. She was dressed warm, snow sprinkled on her hat and shoulders as if newly landed.

Luna was one of the few who Draco held any real affection for - Hermione had his respect and impressed him nearly each week - but it was Luna’s forgiveness that had done more in helping Draco pick up the pieces of what he wanted himself to be, of the man he could be. If not for Luna’s reply, Draco wouldn’t have bothered to have sent letters to everyone who deserved an apology. Unlike Luna’s gracious response most returned unanswered and some unread. But her lacking in revenge, in hate for keeping her in the Manor’s dungeon was a kindness Draco hadn’t felt or would feel for years after.

She watched him, possibly with larger and clearer eyes than his own. And he waited for her to say her piece. Why Harry assumed Luna could help, he wasn't sure. Maybe she was the only one he knew that might be awake at this time. Wherever she was these days.

Potter’s testimony helped him stay out of Azkaban. All that did was make him realise how much of child he’d been throughout Hogwarts and the war. He thought there would be glory. Glory in death and torture, lording over the weaker, the less ‘pure’ in a manner he had never experienced before. He was special, his father taught him. So why was he shaking at the feet of some other wizard doing what he ordered?

“Then what is he?”

“A cursed owl.” Ah, there it was. Luna’s wit that had come through even in her letter (once claiming the Manor was lovely, if not for the Death Eaters and threat of torture overshadowing it). Mad, loopy, crazy as a fox with rabies, Luna. Her age only made her whimsical way of speaking more difficult to distinguish between joke and fact.

“Be careful, he bites.”

Ha, as if he would. Not as if it hurt to make Harry Potter appear wrong. He cooed at her and accepted the pat over his beak with no qualms. He couldn’t see him but Draco heard Harry tut. Good.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry about this.” Harry apologising was weary and unneeded. Those facts didn’t deter him from looking just as guilty as when Hermione was here. Did he always apologise? Draco had no personal experience to back up either assumptions. Either this was common and unbelievably annoying or Potter was going through a phase. Phases should stop by the time someone ends growing, figures Potter had to ham it up more.

“About what, Harry?” Luna asked as she wrapped her scarf around Draco - he didn’t mind even if it restricted his ability to flap his wings as she tied it in a firm knot. “If it’s quite alright with you, Mr. Owl, I’d like to see inside your mouth for a second.”

Well, what did Draco have to lose? Pride notwithstanding but the faster he returned to his son, the better.

“ _Lumos_.” It was a small light, soft and not unpleasant for Draco to see so close to his face.

“He’s usually… more prone to snapping and biting.”

“I’m sure if you were to ask nicely he wouldn’t mind so much.” Draco caught the way Potter scowled at him. Was it possible these two had their own coded language? Had Luna just told him that Fornax was an animagus? “I see some rune engravings but I’m not sure what they mean.”

Draco straightened up. Runes meant spells that were worked on a much more personal and specialised level than the typical charm. Custom-made curses - Draco should feel flattered.

“Can you draw it?” Harry handed her parchment as the Lumos spell dwindled before Luna pocketed her wand.

Draco wanted to see the runes himself, though Luna did not use a quill or ink. A Muggle contraption, most likely as it scratched against the parchment. He wasn’t Outstanding in them but they would give a glimmer of hope and knowledge as to what was really wrong. She was quick to make a copy and Harry rotated it in his hands as he looked at the runes. Draco had seen only three he recognised one was: everlasting, the second was: magic, the last was: bound. They were most certainly not good runes when dealing with a curse and a wizard and Harry’s expression mimicked it.

It was unfinished, if anything. A pentagon with two missing runes at the lowest points - she probably couldn’t see them.

“I’ve seen this before.” He scratched at his head, huffed a noise, “It’s a wasting curse: makes people go mad from hunger until their bodies just can’t go on.”

The problem with such an accusation was Draco wasn’t feeling hunger - at all.

“If he had this, only this, he’d be devouring everything not spitting it out.”

Well, fine, Potter wasn’t that stupid.

“Someone really doesn’t like you.” Luna smiled and Draco accepted another pat on the head. He wasn’t too keen at the idea someone was enjoying his suffering.

Not eating like this spoke of a curse another one - a twofold, two layered curse with one spell strike was rare. This seemed too custom-made for Draco’s situation. The timer wasn’t an activator but now Draco knew time was a factor he couldn’t sit idly by and wait for the curse to eat itself away or for Potter to figure anything out.

Whoever made this curse knew for certain two things: an animagus that would flee in animal form and to hinder the unregistered in staying in said form. Someone knew. Someone actually knew about him. That was -- pointless to panic over. The only thing Draco needed to concentrate on was--

Mary. That bitch. Who else could it have been? She’d fed him food, perhaps laced with potions or poisons. Cast spells on his wing, or perhaps, she’d added another curse. She worked with owls, did she notice the strange eye colour too? Damn it. He shrieked, infuriated that he’d given her the time of day.

Harry shuffled and Draco wondered if he was going to try and pass him over to Luna’s care as he had done to Hermione.

“First time I've heard it coo. He hasn’t let anyone pet him like that before.”

Malfoy’s do not coo (although Draco was close over a newborn Scorpius but was beaten by relief both baby and mother were okay). Was this a habit of delegating tasks or was this more deep-seated, in some poorly thought out act of kindness.

“Oh, he’s probably a little annoyed to be treated like a silly owl. You know what’s going on, don’t you?” She gave him another scratch between his eyes and Draco did have to wonder. Did Luna know?  All she did was smile at him and he knew why some people were unsettled by her. He couldn't get a read on anything she was thinking.

Luna took in her surroundings only then, glancing at the worn and battered walls, the peeling paper. Harry noticed her averted attention and was about to speak but Luna, straightforward as ever stared Potter down. “Don’t worry, Harry. It keeps away the ickernickles.”

“Right.” Harry rubbed his neck. “Thanks Luna.”

“I can’t make out the other two. Looks like you’ll have to read some.” Luna undid the scarf around him. “You look tired Harry,” she said.

“I am. A bit.”

Luna gave Harry a hug - one not even he was expecting. It was awkward. They didn't normally hug, then.  And they awkwardly said goodbye as Luna too, left Harry alone.

“You aren’t going to maim me, are you?”

‘ _No, you’re beating yourself up pretty well without my help._ ’  

Draco wasn’t sure how he could try to provide Potter with any reason why this magic had not ruined his life. Why hadn’t Hermione thought of the using the seeds of the Casting Trees? She must have considered them despite their main use being potion ingredients. They were fine examples of how nature was inherently more magical than humanity. Why hadn’t Ginny been the one Potter whisked away in the night for help? Or the best friend that followed him into-- Wait when did Ron return to the Aurors? Draco was out of the loop so much he’d flat-lined.

Potter was on the couch, palm of his hands in his eyes. “I’m going to lose everything.”

Well, it would seem so. What was Hermione doing? She must know about how to deal with this. It was simple.

Pop.

Ginny appeared holding a cardboard box. They stared at each other in a silence (Potter in disbelief and Ginny like she’d been caught) which Draco didn’t interrupt even by moving. 

“Ginny,” Harry said, moving to stand up but slow as if Ginny was going to bolt. And she did, looking as if she was heading for the Floo. “No, wait--”

“ _Later_.”

The lights flickered, hissed and went out and in the darkness Draco could make out both Ginny’s and Harry’s expressions well enough. She didn’t so much as place the box down as much as drop it.

“Ginny! Please--” Harry stumbled, his shin hitting against the coffee table. All while Ginny retreated in the dark and yelled out again. The couch uplifted itself and rammed into the half-wall which linked to the kitchen, and a clock on the wall ripped and zoomed its way around the room tearing into the walls. Draco flailed on the table, settling his wings back and daring it to think of moving while he was on it.

“We’ll talk later!”

And then she was gone with a pop, and Draco knew why Ginny had left and yet did not know why -- she was scared. Of Potter? Accidental magic was bothersome at best. Unless he’d tried to cast a healing spell before: that had hurt at least. Ginny was another stubborn Gryffindor so why flee?

Harry crumbled into himself like a soggy slice of bread.

“Why is this happening?"

Draco’s magical problems after his wife's death was not as emotional as Scorpius liked to assume  - it certainly was a more romantic notion that way. But the reality was, Draco spent years using spells he wouldn’t have otherwise used and then to go from using them everyday to not left Draco with a magical core that had overcompensated for years and a will that was desperate to reach out and do something. Once he could acknowledge the death and start casting other spells, ones which dealt with the house or caring for his son was all he needed to stop the china incidents.

Potter needed to exhaust himself, magically. Considering the scale of damage, well, it was easy to see that might be a challenge than casting a few repairing spells. Draco did not have time for him angsting over his magic. At times, Potter could be impressive but right now he was one thing: bloody pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time but more progress I think, plot wise at least. A fluff-esque chapter next though so that should make up for it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading/kudos/bookmarking/subscribing etc. (Totally surprised at the response, so thanks again).


	5. Lost & Found

What manner of torture was this? Potter drinking himself into a stupor in front of the noisy box was one thing, having to watch it was another. For it was too reminiscent of a time Draco didn’t want to dwell on. No, he wouldn’t dare say he saw this, even if Potter did find out. Draco’d argue he blacked out, deny it till the end of days. Whatever could remove the reality that Draco was intruding. This might have had him laugh at fourteen, gleeful and arrogant to have Potter be miserable. Not after the war, not after the personal strife of losing Astoria and Scorpius hailed as a monster - that monster’s son. Not after growing up and not having the energy or fortitude to keep on hating and snarling at the world. And now Potter was staring at a box of pictures - coloured and sound intact - and acting like the war never left.

Intruding didn’t cut it because then Potter would be aware of his lack of privacy. He could get mad and bitter. But here Draco was, stuck on his post with that latch round his leg again watching and - and knowing he shouldn’t see this. No one was supposed to see this, this broken Potter that needed someone to shove him in the direction of a Healer. Even if Draco knew nothing of Harry Potter’s routine there was no way Hermione knew of this. No way Ron hadn’t worked himself into a frenzy and apparated to double check on Harry - he didn’t know either. Either Potter’s magic ran rampant at home with impunity or his work environment allowed some magic, some of his twisted will to take a form that wasn’t ruining the architecture or furniture. Hermione and Ron perhaps, had only seen a fraction of how unbalanced his magic had grown.

Maybe Draco had only seen that too - Ginny’s fearful face reminded him how attached the two were even in school. A floating chair, some blinking lights and some structural damage shouldn’t scare off Ginerva (he’d seen the woman angry and fierce and not backing down). Yet she’d fled. It wasn’t as if Draco was on terms with Potter even these days. Cordial chatter only about their sons. Anything else started bickering back and forth and near-duels that destroyed something nearby. At times, Draco avoided speaking to Hermione knowing her schedule enough to know Potter would be somewhere nearby. It was difficult to redeem himself, in anyone’s eyes, if he was picking a fight with Potter every second.

Whatever the reason for Potter’s melancholy, to soak in a chair and drink - Draco knew that too and it was terribly difficult to loathe and curse and hate Potter when Draco was aware he’d done it too.

The difference between them was Potter should have had someone here. Ginny or Ron, Hermione or Longbottom, Luna or -- someone. Draco drank and was awoken by the house elves and a hangover that didn’t remove any of the loss and the thought he had to raise Scorpius on his own. Scorpius as a child had too many habits that to Draco were Astoria’s. He didn’t like looking at his son’s face. So, Draco drank because that was a shitty thing to think, to even feel because the kid just lost his mother and the world responded with indifference and more questions on if Astoria had shagged Voldemort.

Draco hadn’t handled the situation well. He wasn’t proud of it, wasn’t keen to share his pathetic mindset back then. No one pulled him out of it. That stood again to the testament of Astoria and her foresight, making sure to remind Draco that Scorpius was there because of her wishes. She was still a pillar and she’d died months ago then. But Potter should have someone here to yank him away from the box - that may have cast a spell on Potter as he hadn’t moved in a while - and sort out this magic issue if it was so damaging. Why, why, why hadn’t anyone bothered to give the bloke a few seeds of a bloody Casting Tree and be done with it. Why wasn’t Potter going to a Healer: they’d recommend it in a heartbeat, surely.

Hooting for attention, Draco doubted he could do anything to appease whatever rampant thoughts were consuming Potter tonight. Ginny was Draco’s bet - not as if he could confirm it or not. Having his wife run away from him must have more than stung; Draco hated an upset Astoria, especially when it was his fault. Still, Harry’s mood was a factor in how quick his investigation ran. A sluggish drunk would be of no use to Draco and he had no intention of staying as an owl any longer. Potter needed to be on top of his game, especially if Draco had been outmanoeuvred by Moran’s gang.

Harry didn’t cast him a glance. So, Draco decided to escape the confines of the post by fluttering down to the floor and pulling the entire thing down with him. It thumped against the floorboards and Draco started to peck and nip at the leather again.

“I can ruin the place on my own, thanks.”

Draco’s laugh translated as a long shriek that neighbours would hear if Potter hadn’t put up silencing charms.

“Come on then.” Harry wasn’t drunk enough to fall when he stood though his first attempt at leaving the couch was a failure much like his attempt in clearing the ruins of this room. The clock lay in pieces on the floor and the tracks it ran stayed upon the walls like Potter was happy with the additions.

“I got you, I got you--” He wasn’t making much sense until he knelt down and started trying to undo the knot himself. Draco stayed on one leg, keeping the other raised and in eyesight. Of all the things Draco missed, he missed thumbs. Potter had untied him, drunk and was faster than the beak would ever be. “--All done!” Flexing his foot it would seem Potter hadn't ripped it off or caused irreparable nerve damage. Now if only his healing spells were as kind.

“Hedwig didn’t like being cooped up either.”  

The name was lost on Draco. Whomever or whatever Hedwig was - was dead. That was clear on Potter’s face and Draco didn’t look his way any longer. Staring at the wall was one thing, hearing the loss on someone’s voice was never easy. Words never provided comfort and no one would ever articulate how to move on. It happened or it didn’t. A year, a decade or for the rest of his life: Draco would never get over the loss of Astoria and if he didn’t, that was reasonable. Death was a hurting mess that scooped out the warm, fuzzy feelings and replaced them with a hulking nothing.

Draco avoided Potter’s hand again and sat on the back of the couch, leaving Potter on the floor. If Draco hooted or shrieked at the bizarre Muggles on the box, he would never admit it. And if he was aware Potter was changing the channel more often and watching him - more than the pictures - he wouldn’t acknowledge that either.

Hours passed and the box did not run out of images, none replayed and Draco made a growl at the sight of bloody insides and Muggles cutting. Why would anyone, Muggles included, watch this? Out of all the images and sounds, Draco liked the ones with rooms: showing off houses - he’d never seen a Muggle house before and he cooed and twisted his head to try to process all the strange devices in their kitchens. What did that one do? A loud, whisking - the Muggle called it a whisk - machine beat eggs in a bowl and Harry laughed. It was not his fault the thought of it was horrifying. If the magical world had the same imagination of Muggles, the Dark Wizards would be so much worse.

Potter touched the back of his neck and Draco retreated to the coffee table again. He would not allow this to go unpunished but a bite now would make Harry return to his drinking and grumbling.

“You could use a bath.” Harry rubbed his finger and thumb together and Draco didn’t need the eyesight of an owl to know how thick the soot was. He ruffled his feathers at the thought so much dirt clung to him. If a mirror were around, he would take stock of the damage. So, Draco agreed and allowed the sobering Harry to scoop him up in his arms and relocate to the bathroom.

“The sink’s a little small, yeah?” Small was an understatement, the sink itself was toty for a full grown owl of his breeding. An unfurled wing wouldn’t even fit inside it. Never mind asking Draco to try and roll around in the blasted thing. Potter nudged him to take a perch on the bath-side and watch as it was filled with an inch or so of cool water.

Harry dropped him into the bath. Water barely reached over his feet and Draco tried to look at his reflection in the water. He stretched his wings out, the left twinging and he tried to lower it. The pain flared again and blood, a scorned pink bled into the clear water only to stop a moment later. He must have stained his undercoat. Whether it was from the attack a few days ago or the activation, Draco was glad to clean away the blood. His blood. Another loss for him in his plan - he had thought to escape unharmed and superior. Nipping at the feathers around it, Draco was glad to see it was scabbed and dark. Not bloated with pus or an itchy red.

Hermione’s voice sounded from the livingroom and Draco saw the fluster on Harry’s face. “Just, just don’t-- Don’t drown, okay?” He darted out of the bathroom, leaving the door wide and Draco blinked at the sight.

‘ _Don’t drown_?’ Draco could hear his own shrieks rebound off the tub - which for moment did sound like a faux laughter. Drown? Potter was proper out of it. What kind of bird drowns? He could fly, not far, not high, but as an owl he could jump high up from standing thanks to his wings and the edge of the bath was not an obstacle.

_Don’t drown._

Draco wished he could poke and prod the idiot with that line when he returned to his human form. Sacrifices must be made. He soaked his injured wing in cool water and it was the best decision he’d made in the last few days. He tumbled around in the bath. Draco took on looking after his wing in the same manner he took on his work. Analytical and precise, focused and patient. He was soaked, really, and stray and loose feathers floated on by as he made sure to keep his appearance perfect in Malfoy fashion.

Success. He was an owl worthy of the Malfoy name again.

When Hermione and Harry reappeared, it wasn’t with the great camaraderie of last. She was pliant and calm, much like she was in the morning at work (before everyone piled on and ruined her goodwill).  

“Hairdryer’s at the ready.” She peeked in and smiled at Draco and he didn’t do much but wonder: what the bloody knut was a hairdryer? If it’s name was anything to go by - its function was clear but - Draco hadn’t seen anything like that.

Hermione didn’t step away even as Harry crowded the door. Draco twisted his head upside down to try and spy what she was doing. Not a hug, not anything Draco could think of that would make Harry back off so soon, “I’m fine.” Harry didn’t look at her in the eye and Draco took note of that nervous tic. He had thought out of everyone, Hermione might be the one he could bullshit his way around. She was lacking in any affect as she sided into the tiny bathroom (Draco had closets larger than this).

“I trust your judgement Harry. I just want to make sure you remember you can talk to me.” She used him, Fornax, the strange eyed owl to cover as a distraction. His mother had used grooming as her distraction, picking lint and smoothing clothing. Astoria had used her books, Muggle or otherwise and never once raised her eyes to give him any extra attention. Draco knew his role well.

Harry just watched by the door and Hermione beckoned Fornax over as she offered a hand. In the spirit of things, Draco furled his wings and waddled over keen to keep the peace between them. Not his usual role (Hermione was the peace-keeper, the scolder and setter of boundaries, all of which Draco was grateful for: Potter couldn’t just say his piece and leave). Potter probably felt similar.

“...Ginny was here.” He made a point to not look up. Or look at Hermione. She did the same, not turning to see him or his flat posture.

“I know.” Hermione cupped some water and dropped it over Draco’s head. Blinking away the stray droplets, he saw as Harry perked up.

“Did Ron say anything?” She frowned, shook her head before starting and Draco eyed her hands again.

“Just give him some time. He’s got your back. We always do but he’s not--” She flourished her words with a heavier sigh, “He’s not happy about it.”

“Don’t suppose you know runes as well as everything else? _Accio_ Luna’s drawing.”

The square parchment whizzed into the room and rested in Potter’s hand and he handed it off just as fast.

Ever the mature one, she ignored the spite and took to the task of doing what needed to be done. Draco made sure not to make a sound, not to move and not to blink in case he missed Hermione’s reaction. What if she knew exactly what this was? How soon could Draco go home? She turned the parchment around in her hands, holding it at different angles and ignoring Potter’s attempt at sulking.

“Luna’s back?”

“No. She was the only one I could go to at the time.”

“Harry--” Whatever look passed between them said more than enough for Hermione to wilt and concede, she stood only to rest against the rim of the tub, Fornax forgotten. “Who’s the Cursebreaker on this?”

“Edgard, I think.”

That was it. Draco was forever stuck as an owl.

The man was too old, too stubborn and too slow for work in the Ministry and the only reason Draco found that Edgard Collins still had authority around the departments was he was a suck up to those higher up. The idea Draco Malfoy was in the same vein was insulting. Draco didn’t compliment and gush over someone who couldn’t hold down their job - what use would they be to him? Draco told the truth, facts and figures backed up with the unique bias of hating everyone. Most people did hate him and it would be seen as too rude not to oblige.

What Hermione used him for was testing the waters of up and coming ballots and countermeasures. See who really thought subsidising Muggleborn households for school was an ingenious idea or disingenuous. Who best to hear the worst of a witch or wizard when they always assumed they were the morally superior whatever they piffled on about with a Death Eater in the room. Some weren’t so bold but Draco knew more about social circuses and twisting words to benefit Hermione’s ideals than even she did.

“If it’s two runes out of five he’ll have to deal with at least thirty permutations. At least.” Hermione had once asked Collins to deal with a small curse and the man ended up looking up 15th century _bloodcurses_ for weeks. The man complicated everything he touched.  “I’ll be sure to remind him this is time sensitive.” She scratched her forehead with the back of her wet hand, as she kept an eye on the paper.

Draco didn’t mind the conversation floating around the room just he needed out of this bath now. His feathers were waterlogged and obscenely heavier than Draco cared for and the water had turned murky and much colder. Grains of soot and dust from the Floo stuck to the bottom of the bath in clumps of black. So, he started pulling on the metal chain, yanking the plug away to drain the water.

“Looks like someone’s finished.” Hermione played the distraction game again and scooted away, leaving Draco to watch Harry peer down at him, towel in hand again. It wasn’t as warm this time but Draco was happier to stop the water running down his legs or over his eyes.

“How long do you think I have? Until I can’t even go outside without blowing everything up.”

Not the most comforting thing to hear as he was cocooned like a cotton burrito.

“There’s a lot of reasons why magic can go haywire.” Even to Draco she sounded patronising. Harry set him down, maybe a little too gentle on the floor before he followed too and picked up the strangest object Draco had ever seen. Was this the ‘hairdryer’. Did Potter know nothing? Owls had feathers, _feathers_ \- not hair. How was this supposed to dry him? He eyed the metal cylinder with the handle. Harry too, looked over it carefully.

It was switched on and Draco flinched at the sound. Was Potter trying to deafen him? And-- was that warm air? Not just temperate like a tepid British summer but so hot it was a might uncomfortable against his skin. Muggles were a strange, innovate lot. This wasn’t too bad.

Potter was nipped at any point he came too close, as it burnt at his skin. Then the endless grooming, which Draco was glad to do away from the loud hairdryer on top of an empty shelf. It also allowed him a nice view over the two. 

“Let’s get back to the owl that has ties to a Dark Wizard.”

“Moran wasn’t a Dark Wizard.”

“His father might as well be,” Harry said and scoffed, “If he wanted to kill the owl, why not just buy the bloody thing? Dark magic was used. He might not be a Death Eater… that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of Unforgivables.”

“Unless he attacked because you were there?” Harry didn’t seem to enjoy that line of thought and Hermione backpedalled, “Not you, specifically but the Aurors.”

"It doesn’t make sense. Make a codeword, make a sign, who has time to track down a specific owl and torture it before--” The silence made Draco pause in fixing his feathers and again that awful look crossed Potter’s face. It seemed Potter had a soft spot for owls.

“For an owl it is overboard. But a person, transformed, maybe?”

Harry pulled a face and shook his head. The idea Fornax was a person didn't seem too crazy an idea but Potter didn't entertain the idea long. 

“You know, Draco Malfoy’s missing - Scorpius said as much.”

“Is he okay?” Hermione's concern was... touching. She sounded worried over Scorpius in a manner that he wasn't entirely accustomed to. The amount of people who cursed his son was sickening if not near as maddening.  

“He was all over the place for a while. Though he calmed down when he saw the owl. Fornax seems to have a connection to the Malfoy's.” Harry shrugged and unplugged the hairdryer: Draco was aware these little outlets were how most of those Muggle machines worked. How? He hadn’t a clue. Just not magic.

The biggest signal Hermione gave was her jaw clenching and Draco stilled. Oh. Oh, no. “Did he?” She whipped around and even an owl’s unblinking stare didn’t make Hermione falter. “Draco Malfoy! Come down here this instant!”

Not listening, not aware, not sentient. Draco went back to grooming himself even as Potter's magic laced with irritation pulsed at his wing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a FYI. I'm not sure how long it'll take to update again. I'll keep writing but the actual *uploading* will be problematic. So, if next Tuesday doesn't give you a chapter, the next Tuesday will give you two and on. Just a head's up until I can deal with some technical issues.
> 
> =) Thanks to everyone's interest again, well chuffed.


	6. Calling Fowl

He and Hermione lunched every month or so; Draco never minded the blocked off dates in his schedule. The Malfoy’s were redeeming themselves, not enough for anyone other than Purebloods - sticklers for traditions regardless of personal tastes - invited Draco or Scorpius much of anywhere. Out of everyone in Hogwarts the only Slytherin Draco still contacted was Blaise. It was a beneficial arrangement.

But as Hermione stared him down, hands on hips and puffed hair following her stance, he knew she was not a friend. Hermione was a contact. Potter might side with him, the bloody stars might align and Potter might not consider him hiding his form a big deal. Even if right now as Potter’s magic was strangling him, it was Hermione that was pissed. It was her rules he was ignoring, her position would come under fire if this became well-known.

‘Present Ministry of Magic, hides conniving Malfoy’s animagus form. Favouritism in plain sight. Whatever shall Minister Hermione Weasley-Granger do next?’

Protecting himself was easier than protecting everyone else. There was no danger being caught, betrayed when his secret never made it to anyone’s ears. So, Draco kept re-adjusting his feathers, ignoring the woman and the magic which eased away after a time. He could only imagine how many people would buy an owl, do a crime and blame it on him.

“Are you sure, Hermione?” Potter’s turnabout was a curious thing indeed. His anger, the magic and glare previous melted away and now was left looking at Hermione as if she was talking nonsense. Perhaps the idea Draco was this owl - Fornax - was too much for his brain to process.

“Luna did say that its eyes were weird, wrong even.”

She most certainly did not say those words. Grey eyes were common in the Malfoy line, second only to the platinum crown and historically filled vaults. Really, Potter knew of nothing distinction. Weird was not Malfoy. He was a part of history - a family that spanned centuries. Distinguished, not bloody weird, that was a term used on Muggles and their inventions.

“You said Scorpius calmed down after seeing him. How often do you think Draco has just up and disappeared from Scorpius’ life? I’d bet not once.” Hermione truly was too smart for her own good and Draco suppressed the glare as best he could. “I’d wager seeing this owl didn’t calm him - he saw something, someone else. Animagus or transfigured, it’s him. I’m going to look in the registry, are you listening, Draco?” She wasn’t going to find much.  

“I’ve got work, Harry. But - keep him--” She pointed to Draco, “--here. I will check, Draco. I will.”

Potter’s magic wasn’t saturating the air as much but the sulking was back and he marched over to the Floo, following Hermione as she bid her goodbyes.

Oh boy, who else was he calling now? How many people did Harry still contact these days? Blaise came to mind then, one of the few Slytherins to do well out of the war. Not because fought against the Dark Lord but because he remained apolitical and fled the country, returning once the mess was in need of sweeping up. Blaise swept in with tales of helping the needy and rebuilding the image of his house. Ridiculous. Even more so that it worked. Blaise could work a room, Draco would admit, better than he could.

Theodore Nott was the reverse. Draco might punch the fool.

“Albus. Is Scorpius with you, I need a word.”

“Why do you wanna talk to him?” Albus’ tone grew more defensive than Draco was used to hearing, though Albus had always remained courteous when speaking with him. His face was scrunched up, a firecall from his father must have precedence of bad news. Or Albus was in a foul mood today.

“Tell him I know where his dad is.” Albus didn’t say anything, disappearing from the flame only for Scorpius to take his place. Before Scorpius spoke, Potter asked, “He’s the owl, isn’t he?”

“I can’t be certain.” He really was a terrible liar.

“Is he an animagus?” Thankfully, he wasn’t without some defence and Scorpius remained silent, Malfoy-glare in place. “Scorpius.” As if trying to scold him into an answer would help. If anything, the threat of trouble was always a point of contention. Scorpius got worse and more outspoken the longer anyone tried to tell him off. Draco included. He blamed it on the last few years of being in the Quidditch team. Thinking of it, Draco hadn’t managed to scold Scorpius much in his life but neither had Scorpius ever been declamatory.

“I don’t know.” Scorpius settled on it, as much as no one would be convinced.

The firecall ceased abruptly, Scorpius leaving Potter no definitive answers and a visage that looked terribly angry.

“Okay, that’s it.” Draco saw Potter go for his wand and Draco knew the spell on his lips: Potter was trying to pull the transfiguration out of him and turn him back. No way no how was Draco going to try any magic, having it put upon him without consequence. The pain, earlier when the runes activated was still fresh. So, Draco fled. Not under the couch this time but to the kitchen. Apprehension at the sound of following footsteps, Draco knew there was no real escape. Just delaying the inevitable.

He hopped up to a counter, gave an angry hiss towards the encroaching Potter, reminding him how this worked out last time. Magic hurt. This was insanity. Bring Hermione back.

‘If you dare--’

Blue magic burned and pulled, stretched and popped and Draco’s hearing dulled like he had cotton in his ears. The grey tones of the world turned vibrant, colours engraving themselves into his eyes so much so he shut them. Was the world always so bright? Draco sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off and to his side was Potter.

“You--I should--” Harry spluttered, his magic doing nothing.

Draco grimaced, not a lie in terms of the headache that made its way across the base of his skull to his forehead. His neck was stiff, and Draco flinched as he tilted his head. Digging his fingers into one side of his neck, Draco hissed at the feeling. How and why was this such an issue? His previous bouts of transforming left him with a tension in his shoulders after a few hours. This was more as if the weight of the world sat on him.

Then as Draco tried to elevate the other side, his arm wouldn’t move. Numb from the shoulder down and Draco squeezed it. He couldn’t feel anything. Draco shifted on the kitchen counter pulling up a robed sleeve. The runes were clear and Draco only knew that whatever magic cast upon him was tied to his magic. It explained why healing hadn’t helped; magic produced a speedy recovery from ones body but that still needed the hosts magic, as small as it might be. Good to know other people could still cast at him.

“What do you remember about the attack?”

He tried not to flinch at the question, he’d half forgotten Potter was there. Overloaded with sensations -- and Merlin it stank of old clothes and damp in here -- he could only think to breathe and calm the thudding heart rate. Forced out never sounded pleasant but it was another thing entirely to experience it.

“Attack?” Draco was more focused on the runes that were written on - into - his arm. Had there been runes on his arm the whole time? Or was the one in his throat moving because of the spell? He’d need privacy to look otherwise Harry would know. Harry could not know. Ever.

“Stop acting dumb.”

A suspicious Harry Potter was easy enough to handle.

“Just a little,” Draco sighed, opened his eyes and ignored the sickness welling up his gut. His abdomen twisted and Draco waited for the thought, the reaction to this natural occurrence: eat. Yet the thought never came to fruition. The impulse to devour and calm the pain. It was gone, like the way to twist his head so easily. Indigestion is what this was mimicking and Draco knew. Four days without food should have him dizzy and weak.

“You might want to start talking.” Harry had pocketed his wand and stood, arms folded and watching Draco as if he was a suspect. Well, screw Potter.

“I get my home invaded, attacked and turned into who knows what and it’s my fault?” He sounded more weary than he meant to and Harry froze, blinking at him as if his anger wasn’t appropriate. Draco looked away too, not remembering Potter’s eyes being that green.

Maybe Draco meant that a little more than he’d care to really say. How many times had the authorities tried to lift Scorpius and blame him, argue with Draco that it was all Malfoy’s fault. Everything was always his fault. Hell, Potter even took Albus away from Scorpius - not even the precious merciful Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World could look passed the possibility Scorpius or himself was evil. A tainted family that corrupted absolutely.

Draco didn’t have time for this.

“I want to know why someone would change you into an owl then try and kill you.”

“Thank you so much for your professional expertise. I’ll be sure to lodge a report later,” Draco paused, tried to lift his arm again but nothing, “Is Scorpius safe?”

“You know he’s fine.”

Draco sighed, one he hoped sounded like relief when in reality, he was bored with this song and dance already. Why would he expect anything less than Harry to refuse to believe he was the innocent one here. How could he expect to register and not have Hermione interrogate where he’d fly every day.

“I don’t feel very well.” It wasn’t untrue and to Harry, excessive because he looked to the ceiling as if it would give him strength.

“Then let’s go to Saint Mungo’s Hospital and we can talk once you’re cleared.”

“I don’t think I can--” Harry’s scowl was back.

Apparating, while his insides were bubbling and boiling didn’t sound safe. Not as if Draco had much choice as Harry grabbed him and as if his being was being pulled through a straw, he landed in Mungo’s floor. Potter didn’t seem to mind the stares. Who knew, but Draco was consumed with a panic, an acceptable kind of panic as his legs refused to work. As did his spine. Frozen almost to the spot. He saw Harry speak but did not hear it and in a moment, all Draco saw was the pristine and polished floor coming closer at an alarming rate.

The first thing Draco noticed when he awoke was his son. That wasn’t a feat as he all but hovered by his bedside. Draco needed out of this hospital now. Right now. He wouldn’t have fainted if that bloody Potter ‘I know everything’ hadn’t apparated him here. He calmed Scorpius down with a flippant wave, a dismissal that anything really was wrong. Not that Draco would confide in his son because that wasn’t his job, it was the other way round.

Walking, keeping his head high and ignoring the glances that both Malfoy’s were out and in Saint Mungo’s was easy. His only problem was one of the Healers who stood in front of him, unimpressed and snappy.

“You can’t leave.”

“I assure you, I am more than capable.” Scorpius snorted behind him and Draco tried to move passed the young man. He just followed suit and continued to stay in the way. Who would worry if Draco left too soon?  

“Harry Potter said you need to stay here. Until he gets back.”

Ah. Of course. It was always Potter. Fine. Now that he was no longer Fornax, well, Potter would need to show off his lack of control. Or else Draco couldn’t give him some manner of help with a problem that shouldn’t even exist. But Fornax witnessed those magical blunders, Draco knew nothing. Time to rile Harry Potter up then, see the extent of his emotions and his magic in person.

“And you can tell Harry Potter I’ve. Gone. Home.” He sidestepped the too-young Healer again, looked over his shoulder and said, “Come along Scorpius, I imagine the Manor needs some renovating.”

The Healer didn’t stop the pestering, even as Scorpius stood waiting to apparate. Considering how Draco ended up in a hospital bed in the first place, he motioned to the line for the Floos. If Scorpius asked, he took no enjoyment from waving a goodbye to a distraught Healer.  

“Sorry. The house didn’t deliver the message.” He dusted off some extra Floo powder and wandered the Manor, Scorpius in tow. Whatever he assumed was going to happen in his departure, brief as it was, nothing had happened. The rings stay levitating in their box and not a scratch was around the plinth.  

“Why not?” Scorpius glanced in the direction of the study.

“That I have no idea on.” Some magics were old and in turn had loopholes no one remembered. “Blaise might help with this one though.” He pushed up his sleeve again and Scorpius stared at the almost burnt runes on his skin. As Draco pushed his sleeve back down he noticed the way Scorpius straighten up. “And it’s a no.”

“It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him without you present before.” Blaise wasn’t a common fixture at the Manor but Draco couldn’t remember the last time Blaise had been here. So long as he wasn’t telling Scorpius nonsense and trying to bleed more galleons from the family Malfoy he was welcome. But he’d prefer to keep his son away from most people who could tell him of how much an arse he was at his age.

“Not for this. You’ll just worry. Go.” Scorpius’ face fell then twisted into a glare Lucius would be proud to call his own.

“And worry elsewhere, got it--” He walked off.

“--Scorpius.” Apparated. Gone.

That could have went better. He forgot how frantic Scorpius could become if left to worry too long. He knew everything was fine, Scorpius didn’t. Damn it.

He ran a hand through his hair and stalked to the Floo, not bothering to think of Blaise’s schedule. If Scorpius was gone for today then all the more reason to have Blaise here now. Zabini’s face flickered on the flame.

“Blaise, get over here.”

His eyes light up and he laughed, “Now, that’s hardly an invitation.”

“It would hold some financial interest for you.” Draco left him then, going to sit down and wait for Blaise’s curiosity to win out.

It took a few minutes but Blaise waltzed into the Manor as if it was his. He grinned all the more and near threw himself on a chair. “This better be worth it. Pan’s starting to wonder who I go see these days.”

Draco turned up his nose at the nickname of Parkinson or Mrs Nott these days. She was as keen on him as he was her. If Blaise wanted to shag crazy that was his business but one error, one false move and Theodore might leave her.

“Break this and cure me.” Draco revealed his problem and Blaise leaned forward. His hands were far too cold. Twisting his arm around, Blaise kept a cool expression as he read each. Blaise wasn’t the greatest cure-breaker out there but he was discrete and money motivated. A hobby turned freelance and all the more for Draco to count on him. No one in the Ministry would stay awake at the crux of discovering how to remove this. Blaise was an obsessive fellow, a details man.

“What?”

“How did you…” Blaise’s face wasn’t encouraging and he rubbed at his neck, “Is the whole Death Eater thing catching up to you again?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic.”

“Pay in for Pan’s pet project and I’ll do it.”

“Not the-- anonymously, then.”

Pansy was fond of thestrals. Overly fond if anyone was asking Draco: she’d made a whole campaign and never shut up about how adorable they were. The leather-winged, skeleton-faced beasts that only became visible after witnessing death, that said enough for him. They might have carried the carriages to and fro from the train but knowing they were there and not realising for years was unnerving. Damn things were like the Dark Lord decided to twist a unicorn into something horrifying. Don’t get him started on those bloody eyes, either.

“Two-hundred.”

“One.” Half-price because Draco wasn’t in need of hoarding his money but two hundred galleons to gush over thestrals was an affront to common sense.

“One-fifty.”

No. Draco shook his head. Why did Blaise try to bleed everyone of every galleon, sickle and knut? What sort of thing was he spending his fortune on? Other than Pansy. “One, Blaise.”

“Maybe I’ll leave this to the Ministry.” Blaise dropped his arm and looked triumphant. Draco leaned forward and whispered, “One.”

“You can’t haggle for shit.” As if. Blaise shook his head, stood up and scoffed as Draco lounged back in his seat.

“Why would I ever need to haggle?” Malfoy’s did not compromise (unless it was to their wives or husbands because they were equals - no one else was, so why give them what the wanted).

Knowing this curse might be off before the weekend left Draco with a sense of progress. Good. His plans hadn’t gone awry. Changing a few details, asking some more questions was irrelevant. What he needed to do was make them take the fakes. Why they hadn’t first time, Draco wasn’t sure - maybe they knew Draco had lay a trap for them. That was giving them too much credit. Probably thought they needed a spell to unlock their potential.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ve a few ideas but - don’t wanna be killing my beloved’s benefactor and all.” He winked and swanned away that might have Draco roll his eyes if he wasn’t eager to eat. Hunger was not on his mind and it should have been the only thing on his mind.

Taking his time to assess what he could do, he summoned a house elf. Scorpius would stew for a while, rant to Albus most likely. Draco was at least hoping he would avoid the Manor till everything was sorted. How long was based solely on the intruders’ patience and ego. While he waited, and Draco wasn’t one that enjoyed wasted hours away doing nothing, he set about planning around the latest could-be distraction. He’d left the Mongo’s hours ago and hadn’t the faintest how long he’d really been there. If it was the same day, then maybe twelve hours going by the darkness outside. Potter would know by now Draco was no longer there, as much as he’d commanded the Healer otherwise. Seven at night, said the clock.

“Lotty, serve some tea, would you?” The elf bowed, disappeared only to return humming a tune as she set about her task.

Another half hour and Draco’s reading of the newspaper was interrupted once again by the wards blaring at an intruder. Later than he expected but not too late. The tea was lukewarm. Now, Draco could think of worse pastimes than pissing Potter off to the point his will forced his magic to do something, well, destructive. Since if Potter wallowed in guilt it would be much easier to force him to accept the helping hand Draco would offer.

“I told you to stay in the bloody hospital.”

Draco gave Potter twenty minutes, tops, for him to lose his temper and control over his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I apologise for the pun. I couldn't resist!)
> 
> Got a charger delivered yesterday so, update schedule fine. (Phew!).
> 
> I removed the H/G tag because as much as there will be scenes ('cause they are still married right now), I wasn't sure to include it or not. Just trying to get these tags as accurate as possible for people searching for stuff they want. So content still the same, just tagged a bit different. 
> 
> Also noticed some weird formatting stuff (like double periods and the spaces between italicised words), will have to go back and tweak that at some point. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and apologises for this rambling A/N!


	7. Nothing Lost, Nothing Gained

Turning around, Draco faced that he was wrong. Harry wouldn’t last ten minutes. Fists at his sides and squared off shoulders were a gleeful sight. Really, it was the only way: Potter wouldn’t accept his help if not corralled towards it. Hexes would rain from the sky whenever they tried to converse like anyone else. Whether it was too much history unabated, but ultimately ignored, pushed away from all discussion or just not enough patience to deal with each other, they tried and failed to keep civil. Tried when Harry mentioned the Sectumsempra or when Draco spoke about the Manor, it was there. An awkward, uncomfortable squeeze that made Draco feel like he was a kid again, that hadn’t a clue what he should do. No apologies were given to Harry, no gifts of gratitude or outward acknowledgement of his testimony. Years passed and Draco would have preferred never to have seen that face and that scar again.

“I don’t recall any such conversation.” Draco ignored the scoff and returned to the newspaper. Draco was friendly with Harry’s friends but that didn’t garner much hope in this. If Draco could show Potter that his magic could be easily put under control Harry would see it as an insult, not a truth. An insult to kick him while he was down and hold a point against him.

That was the problem, Draco found when Albus and Scorpius began their O.W.L.S: the only time they spoke was to brag that their own son would receive better marks. The odd thing, that when Albus got a higher mark in Potions - not unexpected - Draco hadn’t raged or reacted in disappointment. Scorpius wasn’t as good in Potions because he wasn’t as interested as Draco was at that age. So, he’d given a vague insult to Potter, a compliment to Albus - that now there was something Potter wouldn’t be able to have ever. An Outstanding in Potions. Albus had taken it better than his father. Yet the truth was - Scorpius had watched him so closely for a reaction, Scorpius was the one Draco didn’t want to disappoint so he dismissed the paper entirely.

“You--” Harry let out a sigh, “Hermione was worried you know.”

“Whatever for?” Draco had expected Potter to try and scold him, furious over being ignored. Not - not Hermione. What was Potter talking about? Harry shifted around, checked his scruffy trainers too many a time and may as well signposted his discomfort.

“The healer’s didn’t say anything?” Draco drew back then, why did Potter know more than he did - about his own condition? Why hadn’t they just-- How could a healer just--

“Apparently not.” Draco paused, took note of how Harry was scowling at the floor as if it didn’t fit his tastes. Draco relented the newspaper and set it aside, “Oh, just spit it out. I’m not dying am I?”

It was the flinch that said it all. Harry muttered under his breath, until Draco could barely make out a word, “Guess they were wrong on that.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Draco shrugged a single shoulder, he didn’t feel like he was dying. Healers always were worrywarts and hypochondriacs. He knew that, knew how hard to simply breathe the next breath could be when blood choked him. A twinge in his arm, not unlike the way the Dark Mark hissed over his skin, alerted him to Potter’s souring mood.

“Bloody hell, I am trying to help find out who tried to kill you!” Harry wasn’t angry per se, not in a way that would spill magic. This self-righteous twaddle was once thought of as an act. It was however, a terrible trait Draco wished Potter had outgrown in the last years. “Would it hurt you so much to answer my questions?”

“Not necessary.” Draco ignored him again. This wasn’t enough to have tea tremble in the cup never mind shake or levitate en masse. Riling Potter up should be easier than this but typically, Harry didn’t want to speak with him. His appearance here was expected because Potter was a bloodhound. And still instead of hauling Draco away to speak in the Ministry and demand answers he could demand, he was here. In the Manor that he hated.

“It’s obstruction if you don’t tell me what you know.”

“I don’t believe I made a report.” Draco dramatically huffed before more mock surprise, “That’s right, I didn’t. Anything else?”

“When it involves Dark magic, then I don’t need a report.”

Draco didn’t even try to fight rolling of his eyes. The logic was sound but coming from Potter it was wholly up himself in a way that reminded Draco of the schoolboy that did the opposite of the rules and was praised and rewarded for it. That - that really annoyed Draco back then.

“Such a gallant refusal to realise you aren’t needed.” The magic in the air seeped in deeper and his numbing arm was a distraction but not before he noticed how Potter’s demeanour changed. Draco wasn’t sure if hurt or anger really fit with it but Potter’s nervous ticks, glaring around at the furniture increased. “I can deal with this on my own.”

“Because being turned into an owl was your plan?” Stabbing, prickling heat spread over his face and Draco scoffed. He couldn’t say it was. Now he must look incompetent. If Draco picked what he loathed out of all humanity’s traits it was that one. Do a job and do it well. Do it once and never again. Some might find cowardice or jealousy more distasteful but Draco was forced to be self-sufficient. Potions for Astoria were brewed by him because no one wanted to be the Apothocary that sold the woman who shagged Voldemort a potion to breathe easier.

“You need help.” Harry ended whatever he was saying in that infuriating nonsense tone that made Draco grit his teeth and seethe. And that’s when Draco decided he didn’t need to talk to Potter or offer help, or talk about his magic - because what business was this of his, really? What was he expecting to happen?

“You’re the one that needs bloody help.” The words were spoken harsh and brittle, lashing out in defence - he most certainly was not incompetent. Be it from the anger or the need to not be looking up at Harry, Draco stood despite his arm hurting as the magic burned against it. And by the look on Potter’s face he was too.

It was a frozen fear, like Draco had just revealed he knew about Potter’s worst whims and secrets. “What?”

Everything stopped. The magic stayed, no longer sinking or floating, no longer strangling or burning.

Draco closed his eyes took a breath before he continued, it did nothing to calm him, “Really, is it a surprise I’m being attacked by Dark Wizards? Do you honestly think this is the first time I’ve had to deal with a sympathiser in this house?” Harry was about to protest but no, Draco wouldn’t have it. Where was the heroic Potter when the media hounded his family? His newborn son--“I’ve had to keep Scorpius safe from the fools who thought he would be the next Dark Lord.”

When Scorpius’ birth was announced and the papers - and everyone along with them - went loopy, Draco found many people sent Scorpius gifts. Whether they were in keeping of death threats and hateful messages over the newborn, fear that he really was the son of Voldemort and was a fungus waiting to grow and eventually kill. Or the gifts took another turn, Dark Artefacts and letters of supported, coded and cryptic and Draco had all but destroyed them all. Then he, Scorpius and Astoria left for the chateau to live in peace.

“I have dealt with this--” Draco didn’t want to hear himself, it was showing too much - too much of everything. Frustration at being told he should just amp up the wards and maybe, not go outside for a time regaled in his head. Maybe this was his penance for being a Death Eater, he had no one to blame but himself. And after so many years, he was still angry. Could he understand why people hated him? Astoria? They were under the Dark Lord’s influence--

But Scorpius? His son hadn’t hurt anyone.

\--before on my own and I don’t need you or your Ministry to waltz in here as if you’re doing any good for me because I somehow, after all this time, need your help? Are you barmy?”

Those insufferable shitheads, Draco could still remember the sneers and whispers over Scorpius.

“You should have--”

“Unless you want me to tell the Manor to evict you, you won’t finish that bloody sentence.” Draco knew many things he should have done, hindsight was easier to judge than foresight. The Manor flared in response, the doors flying open, waiting for Draco to tell Potter to leave, that he wasn’t welcome anymore. A staring contest followed, one Draco knew if Potter said even one word he was demanding the Manor to remove the overgrown pest.

For once, Harry Potter did not push his luck. In his years as an Auror, perhaps he knew when one avenue was closed off. Harry lost, deliberate as he scuffed his shoes on the floor. “Why didn’t you say anything to Hermione if it was so bad?”

Or not, Potter sounded exasperated. Like it was an easy decision to make.

“Merlin you are, aren’t you? You genuinely think I can go ask the Ministry herself for favours, for protection. Have you any idea how politics work? I’m either seen as a Death Eater who had enough money to get out of Azkaban or a blood-traitor that needs to die. Kindly tell me how having Hermione oversee my safety would help her keep her damn chair from the snakes on either side.”

Hermione would keep her position and in no way, shape or form would Draco Malfoy work or conspire to remove her from it. Such an admission might sound like loyalty but it was not so Hufflepuff in nature. Another Minister might just throw charges at him again. Hermione was a safety net for Scorpius keeping his family name. One Draco had tried to pull from the clutches of ruin.

“Things aren’t like that anymore. She wouldn’t--” Harry actually frowned, embarrassed and sulking when Draco laughed, a murky and dark feeling of having beaten Potter resurfaced.

This idiot. This bloody idiot was the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World? What kind of farce was this? What kind of fate did Draco Malfoy have to follow in order for this moron to understand the bigger picture?

“You have no idea what Hermione asks me to do, do you?” Draco sneered and Harry went defensive out of reflex.

“She didn’t say: I’m not interested in what you do--”

“Not interested? Good. Stay out of my business.”

“You have to tell me. If this Dark Wizard contacts others we could have another coven to deal with before long.”

It was not an angle Draco considered before and he relented.

“They aren’t going after Muggles,” Draco supplied him with the only truth he could give.

“No, not yet. They just want to kill you.”

Harry Potter might have helped Fornax, poor, precious, innocent Fornax to remove a curse, to find the bad guy who had hurt him. But he would never help Draco - not when all Potter would do is destroy the rings, or rather, send them away to be destroyed.

“I’ve had that hang over me for decades, it’s really not that inspiring after the first two,” Draco drawled, playing what he really thought down as he threw himself back onto his chair. And what then? Draco was to trust the Ministry to make sure the worst thing in the history of Malfoy’s was obliterated from existence? That no one would try and use the rings against him or his son? No, no bloody way was Draco taking a risk that big on some unknown Unspeakable.

And then it happened. The whole tray flung itself against the wall, the table - hit with an invisible sledgehammer - splintered down, down, down, and the newspaper, crumpled and folded, tearing itself into pieces. And the doors all closed - and opened - and Draco could hear the strain in the Malfoy Manor’s wards and magic. It was furious. And the windows started to show cracks but not shatter entirely and Draco gulped at the sight.

That would cost a fortune to bring back to Malfoy standards if they broke in their entirety.

And the world stopped. At least it felt as if Draco’s energy was zapped and his thoughts stolen as he watched the Manor and the spilling magic argue. Malfoy Manor loathed magic by others and for it to be commanded by someone other than a Malfoy, it crushed at Draco’s skull. Now, all that buzzed in the air was magic, and Potter appearing to try to sort it out in a rather - pathetic manner - that had Draco sigh. He was hopeless. A worried, hopeless idiot that didn’t know what was going on.

“Was there a need to destroy the china?” Draco’s mood levelled. He’d done what he needed. Potter had shown his affliction and now Draco could offer help. Ignore all the word vomit from before, all interaction. That didn’t matter, that wasn’t necessary because if Draco could help Harry then he was indebted. An indebted Harry Potter could be forced to look the other way. Once. But it was all he needed.

“It happens.” Harry stared him down as if he could make Draco not say a word. As if. But he allowed Harry some time to calm and for the wards themselves to see no threat. It took an awkward, silent minute of Potter refusing to budge and Draco refusing to give Potter the satisfaction of losing his own endless stare.

“So, which is it? The Will or the Magic that’s royally buggered?”

“Go to hell. I told Hermione you wouldn’t say anything.”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer one of yours.”

For a moment, Draco was sure - positive and fully thinking Harry would agree. That this could resolve itself and all Potter had to do was say the truth (and for a Gryffindor that shouldn’t be so difficult). But whatever thought fired in that same little window of opportunity killed whatever good faith Draco had - if any. He saw it, in slow motion the near-scowl on Harry’s face. Trusting Draco was akin to pain or disgust.

“I don’t know,” Harry said finally.

And there it was. A refusal. Again. _Fine_. His peace offering, gone. Refuse his help? Have magic ruin everything then, Potter.

“Funny, that’s my answer too.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.” Harry actually had the audacity to sound surprised and Draco watched him in his own way, not quite believing how socially blind he was.

“Weird how that happens.”

Harry might have caught on to the reason Draco shut him down and left him without answers but he didn’t stay for them as he turned and the last Draco heard was a, ‘Forget it,’ and the harsh stomps of Potter going to the Floo. Harry left and the Manor celebrated.

And Draco couldn’t stop the rejection whirling in his head again more so than the Manor’s magic pounding in his head. So, he decided then and there to push it away. Today was a busy day but today was the day Mary could be questioned without the need of an avian translator.

Returning to the Emporium would be a nice distraction indeed. One with a dual purpose. As he moved towards the Floo, the Manor shut the door on him.

“I don’t have time for tantrums.” Draco waited and heard the door unlock and it swung open. Flooing was necessary, Draco wouldn’t apparate until Blaise did his job.

The Emporium was busy.

He didn’t see her but asked the old man up front, “I’m here to speak with Mary, Harry Potter sent me to ask about an owl.”

“Oh, did ‘e now?” He didn’t budge and so Draco, patience worn thin already decided not to take much crap from the man who smelled of owl shit.

“I could provide you with some details, I do hope we can talk somewhere more private.” Draco smiled, not unpleasantly, “I wonder what your customers might overhear. Lots of people avoid places that have had Dark--”

“Mary! Mary! Get down ‘ere!” He yelled over his shoulder but didn’t stop scowling, even as Mary descended the stairs. She was different from the perspective of a human. Her eyes were vibrant blue that he hadn’t seen as an owl. He nodded to her, but was greeted with a glare. “I need you to write down what spells you used on the owl that was attacked.” Draco dropped a blank four-inch parchment on the table and waited.

“Just a few healing spells, nothin’ fancy.” Mary answered but didn’t pick up the quill.

“Any potions or salves?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“You weren’t paid to keep him here till the Aurors came?” Draco made sure to raise his voice, letting the old man panic over the idea his customers might rethink a purchase. Draco watched him leave to hard sell a terribly small falcon. Mary ignored it all and kept the dislike on her face and so Draco moved forward, and whispered, “Did you put the starving curse on him?”

“What, no-- I--” In seconds Mary started to turn red, cheeks flaming and then came a bout of coughing. Strong, painful heaves until her eyes watered and she wobbled on her feet. It was Draco that caught her arm and guided her to sit, beckoning a half-filled bucket over as Mary spewed violently into it. Her adverse reaction meant three things: she did not cast the spell and it wasn’t activated under her care. Also, Draco was a bastard. So he left, with the knowledge he was wrong about Mary being a cog in the machinations of Moran.

He really would have to buy her something to show his appreciation and apologises. What did witches her age enjoy? Ignoring that, he stopped, the outright proof Mary was not involved caused a slew of doubt to well within his gut. Malfoy’s were taught to be smarter than everyone else, not just cultured. Faulting Mary was a mistake.

Owl brains and potentially dying less than twenty-four hours ago, maybe he wasn’t thinking as straightforward, as clear as he might. And if that was true then, faulting Potter to accept him without question was too. Now, though, Draco had seen the magic spill and Harry knew he knew. This could be rectified. Whether Draco wanted to, he wasn’t sure. But a Malfoy was prepared for all manner of situations and scenarios.

The second shop was dead in the dead ends of Knockturn Alley, where no one cared to linger. The bell above the door didn’t work and no sign hung over the shop.

“You again? I swear, you want anything illegal and I’ll report you.” Wrek’s greeting was in no way a warning but a bluff that Draco had to suspect worked on those of younger witches and wizards. The usual shopkeepers were lawfully required to hand over details of purchases. Wrek was a squib, one who was well known in certain areas. The name Wrek was not his given name but it was the only one that mattered: a man of little wisdom and low morals and a green-thumb that rivalled Longbottom.

“Yes, yes. I need the list.” He produced it from his breast pocket, ignored the grunt and complaining nature of Wrek as Draco watched him work slowly. A not so much older man with a gut but Draco had seen the man move faster. “Sometime today, preferably.” The shop stunk of rotting wood and damp and while Draco was aware of why - most alchemy or potion ingredients were grown by those who sold them. Wrek was a terrible one for appearances but the botany skills was enough for Draco to return when he needed a discreet purchase.

If someone couldn’t stand in this shop for ten minutes, they didn’t really need the ingredients. Demand dictated the price. By his fifth visit, Draco had paid three different amounts for the same ingredients. A Malfoy did not haggle.

“Fifteen galleons.” Wrek sat the leather bag down and Malfoy balked at the smell of the embalmed seeds oozing from it. Normal practise was to use tar or if particular in annoying everyone, honey. This was neither and Draco didn’t want to know what encased the seeds in a safe bubble of anti-magic. Draco might pay double to not know.

“That’s--” More than double the price of every street-seller, apothecary and potion apprentices skimming from their master's supplies combined, “Fine. Malfoy’s aren’t a Sickle family.” As his money clattered onto the counter, rotten and eaten by woodworms, Werk grabbed at his arm. Pulled him to the side and for a second, Draco considered himself dead, caught and stupid. But the fingers, nails which needed cut and cleaned, dug into his arm in a grip that made Draco wonder if he would even be able to cast a spell in time if he were to reach for his wand.

“...What?” Draco kept his mask of disinterest up, knowing sometimes, a push and shove was enough for most. Calm. Stay calm. It was then, Draco knew how alone he was here. The windows were cast over in a layer of filth and dust and the streets were barren of people. Draco made a point to stare at the bag of Casting Seeds and ignored the smell of firewhiskey and the sound of rushing blood in his ears.

“You stay away from this shop if you know what’s good for you.” He sounded harsh, harsher than what Draco had ever heard from him. Wrek made a song and dance how much he disliked Dark Magic but he sold anything to everyone and didn’t ask.

And then he felt it, a rough cotton, a thick type of parchment against the skin of his wrist. Carefully, without twitching his hands or showing he was being given anything, Draco nodded once, “As if I’d come back to this hovel.” He pushed Wrek away, the man stumbling and spluttering curses as Draco grabbed his goods from the counter and left in a gait not normally seen. He marched out and towards the Leaky Cauldron in a panic - to those watching, Draco hoped he appeared furious, unapproachable and not scared and curious all in one.

Wrek didn’t think it safe to talk in his own store. Moran wasn’t so powerful or connected, his father had used up a fair amount of both keeping out of the war. Paranoia threatened to set in as the dark cobblestone turned smoother and brighter as he made his way between the busier, more common streets.

Looking around the Leaky Cauldron, Draco followed the shadows to the back and sat by himself. Chattering between the few patrons was enough to blanket even the sound of someone asking him what he wanted. He ordered a cheap drink all the while unfolding the note under the table.

Words were written in a rush, the scratching quill was old and left the paper wounded. The handwriting wasn’t Wrek’s, this was too flowery in words. The ink was blotchy and old - clots and smudges didn’t detract from the bizarre message itself:

GAZE YOUR PRETTY EYES AT THE LYING CHERUB,  
  
FLEE AS IF IT WERE A SNARLING JACKAL  
  
YOU ARE MALFOY, NOT A VIPER, NOT A HISSING MAMBA  
  
WHY LISTEN; SOUNDS OF WAR OR PEACE, NOTHING BUT THE TUTTI  
  
OF THE RING OF CELIUS, YOUR RINGS OF CELIUS; HIS RINGS, CHECK ITS FLAWS AND YOUR FEARS  
  
DESTROYING HIS AND YOUR CHOICE, HIDE AWAY MALFOY AND MAY YOU KEEP YOUR LIFE

It was signed by a Emit Renrüt, a name unfamiliar at first until Draco read the whole thing through again. He always did have a flair for dramatics. The more he read the more the parchment crinkled in his hands. He took no enjoyment from burning it to ash and he left the Leaky Cauldron with a still, silent rage unlike anything he’d felt before. Whatever drink he’d ordered, he left untouched and abandoned. The note was correct, Draco Malfoy would not fight but he could plan and scheme because as much as he wasn’t a snake, he was a Slytherin. And now he knew what he had to do.

“Bloody Potter.” Figures the one time he decided to involve himself in Potter’s mess he ends up in another. He needed to speak with Scorpius, now. It was time he knew exactly was sitting in their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken far too long for them to 'talk', I know. :L I did tag this as Slow Burn... maybe I'll add "epic sized fic" because at the rate I'm going at, this will become sentient and start devouring for sustenance. :'D But things will start moving now, plot wise.
> 
> Next chapter clues:  
> Rings. Removed. Truce.
> 
> Thank you for reading! (If I could kudos your kudos, I would!) <3


	8. Priorities

The first person Draco wrote was Theodore Nott, not about Blaise or his philandering pastimes, but a letter addressing the need to divulge all information on Moran and his father. Contacts and influence of their own were used and dried up. So, where, even if Moran was as insufferable as his father, did Moran come across such a curse. They were not a thinking family. Theodore would know exactly how much Giovanni weaved and planned and the old fart was always too keen to share his hand whenever he thought someone beaten. Nott owed him a favour or two: be that as something not strictly legal either in terms of the new Ministry but what didn't hurt Hermione, helped her.

In response to the note he had destroyed, he pulled the memory out of his head and into a clear bottle. It was hidden along with all the others. A collection, really, of information Draco thought too sensitive to keep just in his head. Details changing occurred when a memory was too old. For now, trapped in a bottle, he'd have the original forever. All the words on the page, the handwriting details: he still had them. And if he ever needed to recount what word was on the first line to the last, he was saved.

Draco waited till late evening before he knew his son wasn't returning home. By next morning, there was still no word, no appearance by Scorpius and that was when the next message was wrote to Scorpius, an urge to return home so he could discuss Boris. The letter was only just in the owl's beak before the Floo flared and out stepped Blaise. Eyes squinting at the light and holding onto a stack of paper and a filled vial. 

“Well? Back so soon?” Draco ignored the melodramatics by most. They never did manage to annoy him, simply because Draco Malfoy could always do a grander gesture with half the effort. Why did they bother to try? Blaise dumped what he held onto the couch. 

“Soon? I’ve been researching since I left.” Blaise seemed tired, his eyes redder than usual. The potion in his hands was not labelled and Draco eyed it more than his friends well being. “Drink this first."

Blaise handed him him the small vial, cast inside was a thick purple liquid which reminded Draco of Astoria’s favourite flowers. Charms and hexes went hand in hand but a curse was not so easily removed. What did one potion do? Rather, what did one potion brewed by Blaise Zabini hope to accomplish? 

“Whatever for?”

“When I undo this anti-magic deal then you, Draco will turn stark raving mad for the want to eat something. That is a cure for that.” Blaise used his hands a lot when excited and it would seem whatever puzzle lay on Draco's arm was enough to have given Blaise a boost of energy. He accepted the reasoning, if not lacklustre, a simple starvation curse and something else. That didn't sound as customised, or important, as Draco had thought it out to be.

“If this works, I might be impressed.”

“If, he says.” Blaise shook his head, sat next to him and motioned for Draco to show his arm. He did, not enjoying the way Blaise twisted his arm round, "Just drink when I say so," and Draco looked over the vial again. It did not look pleasant to drink. A small blessing that it was no more than a cup-worth. He could down this in one go. 

"Now," Draco almost spat out the tonic as soon as he tasted it. Kill him now. Oh, the medicine wasn't even strained. Lumps and unthickened parts were the least of Draco's worries as his arm crunched. It was painful, like someone had punched a hole through. Now, though, Draco found he could move his arm quite easily, even as the last of this - this disgusting concoction slid down his throat. 

His eyes watered for a moment, and then everything went blurry.

“I forgot to mention you’ll be out of it for a bit.”

“You arse.” Draco's head fell back against the couch and he stared up at the ceiling. Oh, he could feel it. The Manor being too alert for its own good. The magic twinged his arm no longer but did double its efforts in giving him a headache.

“Come on, I had to have my fun too.” Not seeing Blaise's face clearly did not dissuade Draco from sending the foulest of glares in his direction. Even as Draco’s cheek was pinched, “I'm just teasing, yeah? Up you get,” Blaise said, and hauled him onto his feet. Which was not as painful as Draco expected. Everything was quite nice. Everything was fuzzy and despite the lack of details Draco could make out, everything was lovely. Lovely and warm and Draco was weightless.

“Why is my house so, so grumpy?” Draco narrowed his eyes at the window, which opened and closed with a bang. 

“Lords and their houses, right?”

Draco struggled to follow the logic in the same way he could not hold his head up. 

“I’m grumpy? I’m-- not.” Draco was not. Not. He yawned before he could say anything else. He could tell he was being dragged away somewhere, Draco guessed to a bed if this drowsiness was anything to depict the sleep he'd need to remove this nonsense. His stomach curdled like spoiled milk.

When he heard Blaise, his voice close enough for him to feel the puff of air at his ear, Draco wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Or why he was supposed to care. Really, everything was fine. “Potter’s here. Are you sure you aren’t mixed up in anything?”

Draco made a noise. No, no he wasn't. Just having some rodent issues. Draco devolved into laughter at his joke.

“What happened? Is he okay?” Draco would like to think Harry asked him those questions, but again, he went over his head and was talking to someone else about him. 

“He can answer your questions.” Blaise jostled him but Draco could barely lift his head from its lulled position.

“I’m ffigh.” Draco knew he was not as his eyelids grew heavier by the second, his tongue too fat to move to articulate how shit Blaise was in potion-making. 

“Not his most eloquent of days,” Blaise said, his voice sounding further away despite his hand around him feeling heavier. 

“What happened?” he heard someone speak, but was not sure who, as the voice was muffled and warped and Draco stopped resisting the tired pull.

Then, Draco dreamt. 

She was as beautiful as Draco remembered her to be, smiling and cheerful but not ignorantly so. This memory was a fond one, Draco knew it well but details over the years changed. No longer were they inside the courtyard and walking side by side but in the fields surrounding Malfoy Manor, birds surrounding them. Astoria had never seen a peacock or peahen before: their feathers used as quills and claws as ingredients but no more than that. Howled with laughter at the sight of the proud animals she had - said the were the most ridiculous animals she’d ever lain her eyes upon. The peahens had disappointed her as they were not more colourful or held more ostentatious colours than their counterparts.

He still loved her dearly, even in his dreams, and he always tried to reach out - though he was always aware these days of the dreams were only that. Whenever he did near her, she vanished and the chill of her death remained and he was hurt all over again. But he knew the truth but laid on too much of a terrible hope he could still see her in his dreams, even for a moment. 

“Astoria.”

She smiled at him as she pushed away a blinding hair from her face. And when Draco blinked, she was gone and Draco was left holding onto the air. She was still gone. 

Draco heard talking as he roused for his nap, footsteps and then nothing. Unsure where he was he waited, only to freeze when he felt the dining chairs and the wood of the dining table. He peeked at them and loathed that Blaise would set him here. This room was a horror in itself. Draco never ate here, never would again, even if Nagini was dead.

“You okay now?”

“I’m surprised you aren’t off to the Prophet to indulge them.” Draco rubbed at his wet, itchy face, only to realise his mistake. No point in being subtle in this any more, Draco wiped at his eyes and made no attempts to engage in any conversation. Blaise didn’t catch on.

“Are you still--” he seemed to be unsure how to form the rest of the question before he took a look over his shoulder, “Taking potions?”

“Not that that’s any of your business.” Draco’s neck tingled and he wondered how bad he looked for Blaise to ask such a thing, “No, not in years. Why?” Blaise leaned in to speak but Harry chose that point to walk into the room, where he’d snooped was anyone’s guess. The Manor near-vibrated in anxious magic. Draco wondered if either Blaise or Harry could feel it on their skin or in the air. It did not want anyone here. Paranoid and anxious over Draco passing out and not knowing who to throw out for the blame. Harry should be glad Blaise was here.

“Nothing, tell you later.” Blaise waved him off went back to lounging on a chair.

“I need to talk to Draco.” 

“That means your excused, Blaise.” Draco stood up slow, rubbing his fingers against knotted muscle. How long had he slept hunched over? Bloody Blaise, didn’t know a thing about posture.

“I’m comfy where I am.” Blaise did look so but Draco might not know how Potter thought over and prioritised tasks. He most certainly would not allow Draco to so much as mention the magic menace if Blaise was here.

“Don’t be difficult. Just go.” Draco was glad Blaise rose from his seat then and perhaps, his sudden unconsciousness was a factor in moving him. Guilt was the greatest motivator for Blaise, just before galleons.

“If you need anything else I’ll be glad to take some money for it.”

“Goodbye, Blaise.” Uncharacteristically, Blaise hugged him but Draco passed it off as playing the part of the good friend so he clapped the man on his back twice so to keep up appearances in front of Potter. Blaise was a decent curse-breaker but taxes and licenses weren’t Zabini’s thing and doing either under the new Ministry law was a surefire way to see the inside of a cell.

“You look like shit,” Blaise whispered into his ear and Draco laughed. This was his house, this was his and if Blaise or Potter tried to make him feel unable to do whatever he wanted, he’d have the Manor remove them for him. Blaise was forgetting his place as a guest. 

“Still carrying the years better than you Zabini,” Draco said as he pulled away.

“I don’t get as much beauty sleep as some.” Blaise hooked an arm around Draco’s shoulders, “Well, I’ll leave you and Potter to discuss… whatever a Potter and Malfoy would discuss?” Zabini made a point to stare and smile at Potter that most purebloods would have bristled under, knowing fine well what he meant. Harry’s reaction was genuine disinterest in what Blaise said and was more interested in eyeing the furniture. 

“That is the least subtle you’ve ever been.” Draco knew Blaise wasn’t even trying, knew he was just making sure Draco was the one caught out. He’d want to know what they were talking about: a matter which Blaise would never know. Draco would lie to him later, once he thought of a plausible excuse. If Harry was here so soon after the argument yesterday he was either desperate or he’d been talked down from his pedestal by someone else. Malfoy’s did not barter or bargain but they did seek opportunity wherever it may be.

“Catch you later.” Blaise span round once he got to the door, “You too Potter.”

Blaise winked a goodbye to Draco and it was more acknowledged by Potter than Draco. The idiot had started and ended many a conversation by a wink, meant to unbalance and confuse. "Oh." Harry frowned, looked to Draco as if he was expected him to jump in before his attention turned back to Blaise himself, “Okay?”

Blaise was a decent not-decent sort. The kind of man who would do as asked but then, for his own satisfaction or self-interest would take what was necessary for either. Him being dosed and having to put up with Potter was probably enough goodwill for Blaise for the rest of the year. 

“Well, what is it?” The Manor began to heave the windows open, the curtains billowing in the wind and Draco couldn’t stand the nervous magic surrounding him for one second more. “Stop, now. I am perfectly safe, you ridiculous house.”

“I guess it doesn’t like me much.” Harry tried to smile but failed. It looked as if it hurt. 

“It’s a house, it doesn't have feelings. You’re a threat or not and after your show yesterday, I imagine you’re squarely in the ‘threat’ category.” Draco decided then he’d had enough time spent in this dining room. No more minutes of his life needed to remind him of the past - even if his house was covered in history. 

“About that.” Harry rubbed at his neck, “Sorry. It just happens. I’ll pay for--”

“Are we rehashing the same conversation?” Draco called back, not bothered if Potter followed him or not. He really would like a mirror to see how he fared. Potter did follow him and sighed at the footsteps - that sounded meek and unHarry, “Fine, is it your Magic or Will that’s buggered.” 

“Is there a difference?”

“You--” Draco turned to see if Harry was playing a joke. But all Potter did was stare back, interested in what Draco would say. No. No, surely not. He was friends with Hermione. How-- “I don’t even know how you survive knowing so little.” 

“It’s not as if knowing what’s wrong with me will help.”

Malfoy’s took opportunities, so Draco made use of one now. He’d tried to bully and coerce Harry into help before and it had left him with no tea. “Since it appears you turned me back human, I’ll help you.” Draco ran a hand through his hair. He really wanted a mirror. 

“I’ve tried duelling for hours; the whole Auror squad - spellcasting for longer - even sending my Patronus to Charlie in Belarus. I don’t think anyone can help.”

Draco ignored the clear: ‘I don’t think you can help,’ that laced his words. 

“And Casting Tree seeds?” Draco turned and waited. He saw Harry fidget with his glasses before admitting he hadn’t a clue what they were. So, it was true. Hermione hadn’t known.

“It’s easier to just show you.” Draco shook his head, he couldn’t leave the Manor yet. “I don’t have any at hand, come by tomorrow.” Draco lied, knowing the pouch lay deep in his pocket. Scorpius was priority.

“I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule.”

Draco, ever grateful to his family’s colder gaze, he did not laugh. He knew very well Harry had no work to deal with, no real place to go. His case on the owl was linked entirely to Draco - and he wouldn’t be helping Potter solve that one. Potter could, however, help solve a curiosity of his.

“What exactly did you and Blaise discuss while I was out?” 

“You can move your arm again.”

Shit. Draco flexed his left hand open and closed, and shrugged off the shot of adrenaline. He felt caught. “Yes, your point?”

“Blaise did it.” 

Draco considered what Blaise might have told Harry. He most certainly did not tell Harry about his curse-breaking side-business, “Hardly, he supplies me potions. Nothing else.” 

“He said as much.” Harry stopped dead by Draco’s side, “Though, I remember Blaise not being very good at Potions.”

Oh, shit. He knew. Draco made a point to meet the mistrust head on and not flinch or fluster under the weight of the stare. But he was sure he might have gulped, might have given something, albeit small, away for Potter to make assumptions. 

He definitely knew. And Draco refused to scare from this: which was a positive of having his younger years terrorised. There wasn’t much that truly frightened Draco these days, even a suspicious, might-too-close Harry Potter. 

“Tomorrow, then.” Harry left by Floo and Draco stood there waiting to see if this meant a swarm of Aurors would flood his house. Draco thudded his head back against the wall. Blaise was a pest of the highest calibre. What a mess this was. 

Draco made his way to the study only to glance inside, where the damage remained untouched by the house and elves. Good. He’d considered leaving it for longer, letting the fools think Draco was so traumatised over the attack he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. He returned to coo over the fake rings that hung out in the open, waiting for their prey to come and steal them away. They’d be in for a surprise if they returned wearing them. 

It was ten at night when Scorpius wandered in, surveying the house with fresh eyes and, if Draco couldn’t ignore the vibrating wards and magics his son had no chance. As Malfoy Manor grew irate and defensive, Draco grew more confused over the house’s reactions as of late. All he knew was after Potter, it hadn’t calmed down.

“What’s wrong with the house?” Scorpius asked, looking around the ceiling. Doing his best to leave out the fact it taken a day and a half for him to return. Draco ignored the urge to scold him there and then. 

“It had an encounter it’s not used to.” Draco stood up, ignoring the tut from Scorpius and walked away, fully knowing his son would follow.

“And that means?” 

“Drop the attitude.” Draco snapped back, “I’m going to show you what the intruders were after.”

Whatever smart words were on his tongue died and Scorpius bounded over, walking side-by-side instead of trailing behind. “Okay.”

And that’s all that was said between them. Scorpius might have assumed Draco to fret a little over the time it took for him to return at his message. But Draco knew the brat was trying to make point - just not say it. Yes, Draco had been terribly worried, unsure some might say. But Draco did not put in a three day disappearing act for the cheap thrill. The quicker he could illuminate the looming danger, the quicker Scorpius would be appeased and this lashing out could end.

The real rings were underneath the house, a mid-floor between the cellar and the ground floor. Hidden behind a charm and in need of an invoking word for even the hinges of the door to appear. Creaking and groaning, the house shifted and as if someone hammered the appearance into the stone itself, piece by piece, the door emerged on a once blank wall.

They descended into a tiny room of harsh brick and wards marked in parchment which hung at the wall. Levitating in the centre were two rings, the Rings of Celius. The larger of two was adorned with a green stone and a dragon sitting around the framing. The smaller was blue and held no animal. It was plain in comparison. And out of the both, Draco knew the most powerful and horrid.

Draco cast a few spells, Scorpius keeping close. They levitated over, before dropping into Draco’s palm. A running chill from his fingers to his spine reminded him just how foul these really were. A whisper, a stray thought not his own told him to put them on and another, an ache to drop them and run. Draco did neither.

“I thought these were wedding rings?” Draco dropped them to Scorpius, watched him shudder against the strange compulsion to wear them and abandon them.

“They are, handcrafted and gifted between your great-great-great-”

“Distant relative, got it.” Scorpius was inspecting them, twisting them around in the dim light. They were normal looking enough. Draco watched him, careful that the pull of the rings did not overwhelm Scorpius. 

“Under no circumstance have you to ever put the blue one on. Ever. Even if I ask you to. Never, not for a second.”

Scorpius shrugged, “Sure, dad, they aren’t really my style-” his disregard was alarming as was it ridiculous. Draco grabbed onto his son’s shoulder and made sure he knew exactly what Draco meant.

“Scorpius. You cut your hands off before this goes on you.” 

A squib with free will would always win over a Malfoy that did someone else’s bidding. Startled, Scorpius shook his head, “I won’t. I won’t.” It was then, Scorpius gathered the power of what he held in his hands and he was eager to rid himself of them. 

“What do you they do exactly?” Scorpius didn’t look at him as he asked, but at the plinth where the rings used to sit.

“So you’ll dismiss this as just any other old Dark Artefact you’ve seen because you think you know what they can do?”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not a kid--” 

“-That ran off with the last timeturner because he thought he knew better?” Draco interrupted to try and remind Scorpius was not unknown to be impulsive. Scorpius actually looked amused, if not a bit bashful over Draco remembering. If he hadn’t potentially ruined time and space, Draco might have found the whole story amusing too. 

“These rings… If you wear this, you will do whatever the person says.” Draco picked up the smaller, blue-stone ring and held it up towards the light. This one always tried to convince him it was the most beautiful. It most certainly wasn’t, as anyone with a keen eye would see the blue was not whole. Inside lay a murky ink swirling and sickening. 

“Like an Impervious?” Scorpius snorted, “Could I get Albus to--”

Toddlers, that’s what eighteen year-olds reminded Draco of - they assumed they knew better, they assumed they knew everything they needed to know and huffed when things didn’t go their way. How Potter decided to have more than one child sounded like a recipe for madness. A dose of reality, cruel as it was, was necessary. Albus not unlike his father had inspired a great deal of loyalty in those he called friends. Scorpius held him dearly, and it was the only path open to Draco to force the issue.

“You wear this, you can be ordered to torture, murder Albus and you’d do it. And if they ordered you to laugh - you’d do that too.” The jovial and uncaring attitude, forced or not, was gone. Draco saw Scorpius’ panic before he heard it.

“W-why do we have this? Why would we need this?”

Draco allowed time for his son to calm, if only for a few moments. He didn’t want the disgust to make him forget or overlook information, too preoccupied with the image in his head. Neither did Draco want it to leave immediately. People liked to think bad things never happened to them - it wasn’t possible. Scorpius had already fallen into the trap of assuming everything would be fine before, with the timeturner. These heirlooms would never be fine. Scorpius must understand.

“They were good gifts at the start of their story, Scorpius. The rings were to make a quick marriage easier to accommodate to - an intrusive thought on how cold it was only to realise it was your fiance that was in need of another heating charm. A shudder to help show what they feared. It was supposed to help.”

Scorpius blinked away, whatever emotions he wrestled with, before he asked, “This doesn’t end happily does it?” 

“What Dark Artefact does?” None: Draco had not found any in his research which ended without death or torture, be that to another person or the bearer of whatever Artefact was there. His house held many, one of which sapped the very life out of people to have it grow gold on it’s half-metal and half-organic branches.

“We should destroy them.” Scorpius sounded sure and it was a relief to hear but Draco didn’t expect the loud sigh, bordering on a scoff to follow it, “Why can’t we destroy them now?”

“Malfoy’s can’t damage them; they work against us now.” It was an interesting thing, really, that such a craftsmanship which created such a loving pair would turn into these. These vile torturous gifts that controlled and held Malfoy’s prisoner with no way out other than to hope against hope the person who wore the dragon’s ring removed theirs. 

“Then we--”

Draco cut Scorpius’ next thought off. He couldn’t risk it taking hold as the ‘right’ idea.

“Offer up a pair of rings that could make us drones to whoever says they can destroy them?” Draco did not tend to loathe the kinder or more sensitive traits of his son but right now, the idea Scorpius would hand these over so easily was sickening. This did not just affect them. Malfoy blood, a drop, was all it took. “I can’t stress enough how important it is of this fact, you can’t trust anyone with this knowledge. Telling Albus might seem safe but what happens if he blurts it out drunk, someone breaks into his memories - you don’t know, Scorpius and you can’t. You can’t allow anyone this.” 

Scorpius was quiet, for a long time. Draco rested his back against the wall and waited for what he knew was coming. It started slow, “You’re telling me - what the people who attacked us - they know this is here?” Until Scorpius was between anger and fear, “A damned ring that can make us hurt people even if we don’t want to-- I don’t want--” 

Despite Draco’s assumptions on his son’s reactions, he didn’t expect the anger to be directed at him. “I didn’t know where you’d gone!” Scorpius was yelling, and Draco hadn’t heard him raise his voice ever. Not to him.

“I was so worried. I didn’t-- I didn’t know what to do.” It was the sniff, that always got to Draco and he closed his eyes to push the image of Astoria tutting at him. Oh, he realised now he wasn’t just gone for three days. Not like he’d darted over to see his mother and father for a cuppa. No, he’d never left Scorpius before - Scorpius was the one that left: he went to Hogwarts and he slept-over at friends, he went out into the world - and Draco was always here. Because Draco only ever went to the assembly when necessary, only when the Wizengot were summoned and Hermione might need a few more votes. 

Draco lived here, in the Manor he loathed and he stayed here because Scorpius might need him at a moments notice. And when Scorpius came to find him--

“I should have told you all this, much sooner.” The apology from him didn’t come as easily as Draco hoped. He was stuck and said nothing else. How ghastly of a father he was right now. How terrible. 

Scorpius did not argue this time and followed him out of the alcove without any prompting. Draco sealed away the room, the edges of the door draining away like water and all that remained was a wall. The silence between them hurt, thorny and out of place. 

“I wish Albus lived on his own. James is always saying--” Draco turned to see if Scorpius’ face matched his brooding tone but all he did was stop talking, features blank and revealing little. When did he learn that? His son gave another shrug and Draco decided not to ask. 

“How... is Albus?” From what Draco last heard the two Potter boys were sharing a flat somewhere unplottable. 

“He’s worried. About his dad. Another thing we have in common.”

Draco rubbed away the guilt that must have shown on his face, “Scorpius, there isn’t a force on this earth that would make me ever want to up and leave you.” 

“But you did leave me behind. I’m not a kid, okay. You can tell me things.”

“Such as?” Draco bit his lip and he was back being a new father: terrified and hopeful all the same. And the nagging question of how he explained how he was apart of the Death Eaters. How did he explain the crushing walls, the fear of one wrong move being the last to a child who hadn’t ever seen an Unforgivable never mind be forced to cast one on another person? 

“You never talk about anything. Like mum.”

And just like that, Draco laughed. “When this is all over, I’ll show you whatever memory you’d like of her spoiling you.” He was fond of her cooing over Scorpius as a toddler, just before he learned to speak instead of babble. She laughed when he did, and he laughed when Astoria laughed. On and on it went and Draco wasn’t sure how it started. 

“Promise?” Scorpius had never outwardly asked about his mother, though reminisced over her often. 

“You have my word, Scorpius.” Draco nodded once, and the trap to catch Moran and his interfering patrons was paramount now. Quickly, he must find everyone involved and cast them away from his family.

“I’ll be at Albus’ place then.” Scorpius awkwardly hung back, “Can we talk about you being an owl?”

“No. Now, off you go. Stay out of trouble.” 

“Right.” Scorpius left and Draco heard the Manor shriek at the loss of another Malfoy within its walls. 

“I find you terribly inconvenient right now. Enough.” Draco said to the house, wishing commanding generations of magics and protective charms was not so much like parenting. It slammed the doors shut again and Draco decided an early night would be helpful.

He awoke in the night, starving and demanding food from the house elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A favourite chapter/scene of mine is coming up. And, yes, there will be finally some 'nice' interactions between H/D because that's necessary for everything. Actually, won't lie. It's pretty much going to be just them dealing with Harry's magic issue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, the kudos, the bookmarks. Just everything. <3


	9. Casting Trees I

Blaise was the worst brewer this side of the Channel. The night turned to a feasting extravaganza and Draco cursed him out as Lotty continued to cook and serve him meals throughout the wee hours of the morning. Tasteless and unfilling for the first few courses, Draco was tired of eating by the time his taste buds recognised flavour again. Draco knew the lack of sustenance would catch up with him but he expected a weak body and a irritable mind. Not, not this. Not this gurgling hunger that made him grimace and groan. Just end, just end soon, he’d resorted to asking after each cleared plate after cleared plate.

Lotty, thankfully, in her duty did not baulk at the number of times Draco demanded more. Or spoke of how his manners deteriorated the longer Draco was awake. By six, Draco was relieved. He slept. For an hour. His house elf roused him standing at attention by the side of his bed. 

She spoke and her words were drowned by the wards screaming. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he turned away from the open windows, the light too much for his sunken and aching eyes just yet. 

“Come again?” Draco glared, the house doing its best to drill a hole in his brain. 

“Mister Harry Potter--”

Fuck. Draco rubbed his face and groaned. He hated it. He hated all of this. It was tempting to send Lotty away with a message to let Potter know to piss off. 

Scrambling up, Draco grabbed his wand and took to dressing as efficiently as possible. He had half a mind to tell Potter to return another day, when his appearance wasn’t so rough, his night not so exhausting and his eyes too dry. Let him return to bed and snuggle back into the comforting warmth. 

“Bugger.”

He had one shoe on before he remembered the key item, “ _Accio_ seed pouch.” It whizzed out of a drawer, landed in Draco’s hand as he tried to pocket it and deal with the weary old man looking back at him in the mirror. Draco rubbed his hand over his jaw, he could take time to rid himself of the stubble but his skull couldn’t take much more. Greeting Potter, appearing unshaven was another intolerable option. Scowling, newly woken and with another cramp from his stomach, Draco marched downstairs.

Today was already a shitty day. 

“I swear, if you don’t stop - with the buzzing and the banging I will take your bloody wards down - and I don’t care how long they’ve been up for.” The house shut the windows, opened them in an instant and the noise inside Draco’s head didn’t stop.

Draco didn’t want to say he noticed Potter waiting at the bottom of the stairs. That seeing him didn’t offer him some curiosity to focus his foul mood on. The prick could, however wipe off the grin as to not make Draco feel entirely self-conscious with his delicate constitution this morning.

“Do you argue with the house a lot?” 

Draco should have taken his time. Instead he walked on by Potter, letting him fall in line and follow instead of Draco having to bid him good morning. 

“Only when you’ve been around. I’m putting a stop to this magic problem of yours.” Harry flinched, and his grin left with it but Draco was in no mood to give any consideration it was a harsh thing to say, “Maybe then, this bloody house will stop.” More noise, a clatter from another room, the chandelier above them twirling. 

“Are you even listening to me? Enough.” Draco dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You’ll give Scorpius a headache. Stop.” It didn’t. “Right, that’s it. Lotty. Destroy the bloody wards--” Malfoy Manor attested this was not the correct decision and Harry stepped back as the chandelier started to crack, some glass falling, “Then enough. I know. I can hear you. I _know_.” He called back and finally, his head stopped resembling a grape being squashed. 

The house was silent and Draco took a moment to shut his eyes and sigh in satisfaction. Finally. He might fall asleep standing here. And then Potter decided to ruin that too.

“So, I asked Hermione about Casting Trees.” Harry sounded too proud of himself for asking a friend a question, so Draco just stared, willing he’d elaborate and that his eyes would stop burning. Harry didn’t do well under unwarranted attention and he glanced around the Manor but Draco didn’t stop.

He really didn’t like Potter.

He really wanted to return to bed. 

“She doesn’t know what you’re on about. You’re so sure it will help. What if it doesn’t?” Draco tutted during Harry’s rant, “I’ve tried, a lot of stuff - I’ve trained against the whole department, even sent my Patronus to Belarus.”

Draco wondered why Belarus and what was there. Even more so, he wanted to know why Hermione didn’t think to buy a few seeds and deal with Potter’s problem in a single night. Did she honestly not know? “Only one way to find out.” Draco looked at Harry expectantly, “Come on, I don’t have all day.” He waved him closer.

“Shouldn’t you avoid apparating?” Potter had the audacity to check him over for more wounds, as if Draco was ready to hit the floor again. 

“Blaise said nothing of the sort,” Draco sniffed, he needed to tell Blaise a few things. His potions were as lacking as they were in school. 

“If I have to take you back to the hospital--”

“I’ll thank you for your consideration if I ever wake up.” The joke didn’t land so much as it sprouted wings and flew away. Harry just stared and Draco shifted, thinking maybe his appearance told a different story than him being perfectly well. How clear was it he hadn’t slept? How clear was it he had gorged on food all night and hated every second of it?

“We can walk there, then. I’d rather avoid flying right now.” The last thing he needed was to be pulled to the ground because the Manor decided that he was too high up and might be hurt. Potter had made his house an interfering nanny. The quicker he dealt with Potter’s problem, the better. Draco set off keeping his growing smugness to himself, still trying to figure out how Hermione didn’t suggest the seeds - but more training.

Harry didn’t comment on the way to the empty field. The peacocks and hens were in the opposite direction and here the wards of the house unable to reach and fret. 

“Stay put for a bit,” Draco scowled as he took another hit today. Manually moving the earth with his hands was necessary. “Don’t use any magic,” he said offhandedly, knowing if Hermione knew nothing of them, Harry knew nothing. 

“If I could command it so easily, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

...True. 

Draco rubbed his face again, “Just go over there and stay.” He pointed to the fence that intersected the fields, the outside, by the roadside, was hedgerows. Potter hopped up and sat on the fence. Deciding on caution, Draco moved another few paces away, and decided to ignore the chirpy Potter. Morning people were the worst followed close by the well-rested. 

He dug the hole with his hands, not a large hole by any stretch of the imagination but the bitter air made his fingers sting and redden. Harry didn’t seem too interested until Draco pulled out the pouch. Casting Tree seeds were as large as chestnuts, the seeds were covered in sulphur, their usual cream-coloured shell unseen. Draco dropped the first seed in and dusted some of the dirt on-top and waited. No magic in soil, no magic in the air. The seed remained un-germinated. Good. One thing was going Draco’s way today.

“So, how long will this take?”

Draco was tempted to close his eyes and abandon Potter here for that question alone. 

“I have no idea. That depends on you.” Draco knew he sounded tired then and Potter noticed - and he offered a sympathetic smile that Draco ignored, “You don’t need your wand. Just put your hand on the soil and don’t move away or resist the draw.” Draco started pushing the rest of the earth back and once it was filled, he motioned Potter over.

“Are you sure?” Harry squatted down and put his hand on the upturned earth. Maybe another day, Draco would have revealed all the magical theory behind it. But, right now, Draco couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. 

“Children do this, Harry. Children.” Draco took a few steps back, and at the thought of Scorpius his eyes landed on his wedding ring. He twirled it on his finger, smoothed away the dirt until it shone bright again. 

For what was too long, to spend in a field on a chilly day, the tree began to grow. Even though it was transparent, the leaves nonexistent and the tree creaked under itself. It sprouted fast, flinging some of the loose soil as it grew above Draco’s height. That was normal. It was not normal for it to continue another two feet and Draco swore. As quick as it grew from the earth, Harry pulled away, the growth stopped.

“I feel better already.” Harry jumped up to his feet. 

Draco was impressed until he approached the tree for a closer inspection.

“Do you think I’m so easy to fool, Potter? Get back here.” The branches did not fade out of existence as they should. They appeared burnt and gnarled despite the rest of the tree unblemished. “You stopped it. You stopped it growing.” Harry didn’t say a thing. “Why?”

“I feel better. I’m fine.”

Scoffing, Draco took another few paces away from the first Casting Tree and Potter. “Second one, and this time, don’t start thinking about how the tree needs to stop growing.” He set to work on making another, glad he’d taken the whole pouch instead of single seeds. 

Harry lurched. “You could tell?” 

“You let go when you feel dizzy or light-headed, not before. I imagine the speed this grew at - you’re not even half-empty.” Draco shook his head, he was a little jealous over how magic seemed so easy to Potter. Too easy, as if Draco was the abnormal one. 

“I can run out of magic?” Harry asked and Draco might as well have headbutted the tree to stop him from scoffing at the sheer ignorance of this whole debacle.

“No. But your Will can fatigue; that’s what causes most magic to fail.” Words and wands, wand motions and incantations were all enablers of that Will, the desire to change the world and have the magic obey. 

The second hole was finished. Draco waited longer this time before refilling, just in case Potter’s magic was in the air. He cleaned his ring for a second time too, this time taking it off his finger and wiping away the dirt stuck under the ring. Good as new.

As Potter placed his hand on the ground, the first tree bloomed - four seeds dropping with a pitter-patter before the tree itself was washed out of the world by the breeze. Most people made one or, if strong, two. Four without trying was rare. The burn in his gut was back. If this was Potter not trying, how many would he end up with?

Seconds ticked by before the second seed bloomed. And Draco laughed when it did. It was bigger than the first, a feat rarer than Draco had heard. “Potter has anyone ever told you how ridiculous you and your magic actually is?”

“No?”

“It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, bloody ridiculous.” And still Potter was still able to stand and talk with ease. Adults using these were sapped of most energy, unable to walk or cast the simplest of spells. Potter hung around, waiting on a third like it was a maths problem. 

Draco shook his head at the sight. What limitations did magic have if Potter’s Will was this - two grown trees worth. Now, Draco wondered if there was even a point to feeling competitive for any reason, it was clear as the trees he would never win. Not that Harry would ever win in the more refined parts of life or know what a hairbrush was. Draco would take his wins where he could have them. 

Again, Draco separated and took a few extra paces away from both Harry and the Casting Tree. This time, Draco took his ring off, not wishing to tarnish it again. 

“I’m surprised you care so much for it.” Harry was looking down, so Draco followed the line of sight to his own hands, “Your wedding ring,” Harry explained. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Draco found it an odd thing to think: why would he wear it if he didn’t care for it? Don’t tell him this was another Muggle-thing. He watched as Harry heard his own words as he tried to undo it. 

“Sorry, I just-- wasn’t it arranged? You and Astoria, there was a lot of - of papers talking about it,” Harry paused to fidget with his glasses, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Like what? Whether this was a Muggle-thing or simply because Draco was too tired for mental gymnastics, he didn’t really care for another apology. 

“Arranged? Astoria and I?” At first, the idea didn’t elicit any reaction. Then, Draco laughed, loud and unabashed at the idea. A laughter that made the cramps in his stomach worse but they did not stop him laughing. The mental images of his parents and Astoria’s sitting around a table discussing them like commodities of old. No, the reality was Lucius barely spoke to Astoria - disagreeing on most topics - and both Mrs. Greengrass and his mother had loathed one another. Harry’s embarrassment, at being proved wrong - finally - was clear.

“The announcement was to ward off any repercussions of me marrying - as my father put it, ‘below expectations’,” Draco scoffed at the idea, “Greengrass did the same to deflect any bad press from marrying into the Malfoy’s. It was to look like we were honouring an older arrangement neither of us could abandon.” 

“My family thought I could do better than a woman who’d die before she reached forty.” He didn’t like the earth here, the soil was solid from the cold night and shingle left Draco’s hands raw. Draco frowned, he knew well what his family thought of her - he could only guess what the Greengrasses thought of him. “Her family thought she could do better than a Death Eater.” 

“Our wedding was a disaster.” Draco smiled, even as a stone tried to dig underneath a nail. 

Daphne was the nicest out of their families joining. And she’d left early after hugging her sister and ignoring Draco from the start of the day. Ha, he’d forgotten how awkward the wedding really was. The hole wasn’t as deep this time, but being the third, Harry wouldn’t manage to make much of a tree and there was no need for the space for a blooming of roots. Harry made a noise then and gained Draco’s attention. 

“And you’re smiling about it?”

Potter wouldn’t understand. Not many people seemed to, when Draco and Astoria married, the first thing the papers said was arranged for some Dark purpose. He’d love the woman, as much as she was no longer here, and he would - most likely - love her for the rest of his days. Like he’d promised.

“It was a fun day.” Even his mother bid him a farewell once it dawned on their families it was going ahead, their permission unneeded and unwanted. He and Astoria had found themselves alone, but together. Thinking back, Harry and Ginny seemed to have issues. Instead outright asking, Draco said, “I imagine your wedding day was the total opposite.”

“The only thing louder was when everyone ended up trying to out drink each other.”

Drunk, uninhibited Weasleys. That said enough. 

The second tree dropped its seeds, this time two before it too disappeared. 

“Blaise healed you, didn’t he?” Draco dropped another seed into the hole and spared Harry a glance. He didn’t want to change the topic, especially not to this. 

He watched again, to make sure it did not germinate before clawing the earth back to sit on top, but his good mood flagged, “If he did, he didn’t do a very good job.” Draco rested the back of his hand on his forehead. Acting like it was a friend playing Healer was easier than admit Blaise was doing anything illegal. But Harry seemed to straighten, as if Draco was going to collapse there and then and Draco couldn’t stand it.

“I’m fine, you deal with this.”

Wiping his hands on his cloak, then retrieving his ring, Draco retreated to the fence, he didn’t watch this time. He closed his eyes and thought of how Blaise really was the closest he had to a friend. What a sad state of affairs this was.

“Draco?” Harry called out, “are you that tired?”

“If you have to deal with Blaise, you’d be just as exhausted.” Potter did it again, the same noise as yesterday and Draco scowled. Looked over to see Harry rubbing his neck. Draco watched as Harry proceeded to not look in his direction. “Oh, no. You - you do, you actually do, don’t you?”

“What?” Scandalised didn’t cut the look on Potter’s face. 

“You think we’re shagging because Blaise winked at me.” 

“None of my friends wink at me.” And then Potter didn’t end there, where it could have ended and been fine. Funny and a point to prod later, but no. Harry continued, “It’s fine.”

A mature adult would back away from that. Agree that everything was fine. But what did that even mean? And why was Potter sounding far too much like he was giving his permission for this? 

“What’s fine?” Draco didn't really want to hear what Harry thought considering his ears were red.

“If you and Blaise are--” Harry the ever courageous Gryffindor lasted all of two seconds meeting Draco's eye. 

Ooh, no. No. That wasn’t becoming a thing. That wasn’t going to be the new gossip in the Prophet or the rumour mill. Him and Blaise? The heat on his face was more than enough to burn that idea out.

“I would rather bury Zabini under the patio.”

“He was all over you. I’m just saying, it’s fine.” Harry kept getting higher and higher pitched and his discomfort made Draco all the more embarrassed. Bloody Blaise. What was he supposed to do now? Potter thought they were actually-- Bloody Potter and his overactive imagination. 

What was he even imagin--

“It was a hug,” Draco said firmly.

“I’m not talking about that!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. He was unconscious for a while. Right. This wasn't going unanswered.

Draco left a floundering Harry, who if Draco were to guess, could melt the British cold away with the heat on his face and apparated to Zabini’s living room which always smelt of burnt pastry. Blaise sat at his writing desk, jumping in surprise as his letter writing was interrupted. The ink bottle fell to the floor, smearing black on the wooden flooring. 

“Blaise. You.” Blaise edged away from his seat and his letter, and held his hands up. “Potter thinks little but this is a new low. And it’s your fault.”

Blaise came over, went to check Draco’s arm again but Draco wouldn’t have it. This was his fault - somehow. He made sure to glare and scowl at Blaise, hoping he wouldn’t have to speak of what Potter thought. “I’d love to join the conversation, if only you started making sense.”

“What did you do - to me - while I was out in the dining room that would make Potter think we’re together?”

His eyes widened and Draco might have swore too but Blaise made more noise. Blaise backed up and Draco’s anger had him withdraw his wand.

“Blaise.”

“I was covering for you!” He waved his hands around, “You were muttering about Astoria and having a shitty dream.”

“What. Did. You. Do?” Draco had his wand raised, ready and thinking of what hex to throw. Blaise ignoring the question and side-stepping with other facts Draco hadn’t asked about was the most terrifying aspect. He only did so when he knew he fucked up. 

“I was just getting Potter out of the room, yeah?” Draco’s patio was looking mighty lonely right now. “I may have said, I think, you know, vaguely--”

“If you stall for one more second no one will find your body, I promise you that.”

“I’ll tell you, okay. Just, just put the wand down.” Draco lowered it, a fraction, if only to stop Blaise from panicking, “Look, I was helping. I just said some stuff when you were sleeping to make Potter uncomfortable so he’d leave the room.”

“Potter’s words were, ‘he was all over you’.”

“Oh. Well, shit.” The facade of Blaise’s lies were caught and he sighed. Draco put his wand away as Blaise deflated like a boggart. At least he’d have an answer now that Blaise knew he couldn’t twist this into something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff-hanger apologies. Part two will be next week (I am messing around with the idea of two updates per week but trying to work out when I have time to write is a little unknown at the moment as right now... not much time).
> 
> I do love misunderstandings so long as the don't veer into Big Misunderstanding territory where no one talks to each other. Y'know the, "I saw him with a girl (who's a relative), whaa, why must he cheat?!"
> 
> For those concerned or alarmed, Blaise didn't do anything creepy like grope him or anything! Just throwing that out there in case the worry set in. It's innocent, honest.
> 
> Cheers for the kudos, bookmarks and comments! <3


	10. Casting Trees II

“I carried you. Bridal style.” Draco squinted to see Blaise’s lie but the problem was he didn't stop there, “I may have also said, that-- you can’t kill me for this, okay? Promise?” Blaise urged and made an obvious glance to the Floo. Draco struggled to nod even as Blaise’s hands went up again in surrender. Someone preemptively appeasing him was never a good sign or tactic. Bad news always followed it. “That we - I - may have overdid it.” 

Draco’s ears burned.

Forget him blaming Potter. This was all Blaise and as equal a disaster. Draco’s need to return and tell Potter he was wrong dwindled the more he imagined what Blaise said. How was he supposed to explain this without revealing the truth? Potter was already suspicious. He couldn’t show his face to Potter for the rest of time. He’d thought he’d interrupted, urgh - with Blaise. Blaise was a man who he wouldn’t show his cards in a game, never mind his arse. 

Draco took a breath to calm the nerves. “What would you like written on your headstone?”

Blaise clasped him by the shoulders as if holding onto him would save his life. Draco thought of what hex to send at his face. “Woah, okay, okay, dramatics are all well and good. But hear me out. Nott’s a bit suspicious, so--”

Whatever goodwill Draco culminated over the years died a cold death at Blaise’s lack of awareness. He threw Blaise’s hands off him and snarled, “No. You’re not dragging me into this. I’m not an accessory to you shagging Pansy. People thought I married Astoria for some Dark purpose. I won’t have you use her absence to hide your mess.” Draco cast one then, a warning if anything, a Stinging Jinx to Blaise’s hand. Not his wand hand of course, Draco wasn’t a monster. He might need him for curse-breaking.

Blaise pulled out his wand to cast a shield or a counter-hex but the jinx knocked it from his hand. Swelling fast, with painful blotches made Blaise yelp and hiss as it bloated in size. He cradled his hand and Draco was satisfied. The sight gave Draco a rush, not many people got under his skin and less likely were the people Draco could retaliate against without qualm. Draco made sure to keep his on target, Blaise was known to fake injury if it helped in the long run. 

“You don’t get to suggest that twice, Zabini.” Draco was nice enough to caution. The next one was going for his face, damned what Pansy would think of her lover’s new looks. He sniffed and went to pick up his wand. 

“Alright, alright. Next time I see Potter, I’ll let him know.” Blaise’s giddy panic was gone, replaced with a dour surliness Draco was more accustomed to seeing on Crabbe and Goyle in First year. Both of them, he missed at times.

“I’m so glad you agree,” Draco sneered and grabbed hold of Blaise’s collar and apparated back to Harry.

Potter was laid flat on his back, the second mound with yet another Casting Tree in it. This time it was not so much a tree as a seedling, newly grown. Going by Potter’s expression, he hadn’t expected Draco back, never mind to being company. Blaise just rambled from the get-go and Draco let him go, scowling at the man and his chatter.

“I was just kidding, Potter. No need to take what I said as fact. Malfoy’s a bit bothered for you to think that we--” Blaise paused, “You’re using Casting seeds? Why?” He turned to question Draco and this was not good. It was one thing for Blaise to think Draco under investigation or suspicion on what Blaise knew of. But for Blaise to think something else was going on was another and if Draco didn’t stop that now, then he might just think Draco was up to something else. Not that Draco wasn’t, but helping Potter with wayward magic wasn’t what Draco wanted to read in the upcoming Daily Prophet. 

Draco answered before Potter could. “It’s not something non-purebloods know about, apparently. Potter was curious.” Potter gave him a not so subtle glare of his own. But Draco rolled with the idea of novelty and ignorance than of necessity. 

“That’s a pretty shit tree, there Potter.” 

From the outsider looking in, it was uttery shite in all its qualities. Too short, too thin, too few branches and no seeds created. It was a seedling, branching no more than a few inches in height and length before it faded out. Blaise assumed wrong, as Potter was at the middle mound. He thought Potter probably only managed one and a half, like most ‘powerful’ wizards and witches. Blaise had only ever managed one.

“What happened to your hand?” Harry frowned and glanced between it and Draco. Draco made a point of looking innocent. 

“Away now, Blaise. Before I find a plot of land to place you.” Draco dismissed Blaise and for second, he thought Blaise might say something against it or tell Potter what exactly happened. But eventually he shrugged and left with a crackle in the air. 

“I can’t move.” Harry said, this time Draco took account of how true that statement was. For all he knew this was another tactic to have him lower his guard and for Harry to spring the questions on him being an animagus. Decent liars might be able to sound or look exhausted but Potter was more than a little out of breath. His usual unkempt hair was as unruly as ever, stray hairs stuck to his temples and his pale face a blotchy red.

“Who told you to keep going?” Draco prodded Harry’s side with a foot. He didn’t twitch. How could Potter survive with such a lacking in self-preservation instinct? Crouching down, Draco accessed if Potter had to go to hospital, drained and immobile. 

“I think I got dizzy. After the fourth one.” Harry blinked hard and huffed and Draco looked back to the freshly dug dirt then back at Harry’s fingers. So, he’d continued even after Draco left. Good, Draco wouldn’t have liked to have returned and Potter standing around like a pillock. Then again, when didn’t Potter have agency. 

“Really? The fourth one?” He couldn’t see many of the seeds left, too much magic pulsed in the air for them to germinate completely and they’d vanished. Draco only saw a few which survived being alone with Harry. Three was an impressive feat Draco hadn’t heard of much - four was never a goal ever brought up. Back when Draco had used them, he’d been less than happy at his one tree, one-seedling and everyone else clamoured it was a strong first attempt. He’d been wowed at one of the guests - some foreigner, his mother had shooed him away at every moment when he had claimed to achieve two. 

But bloody four seeds in total? Whether the fourth had bloomed or not was irrelevant. 

“It’s not normal, right? Four, then.” Harry attempted to lift his head, managed for a few seconds before thudding it back onto the grass. How he could even move a muscle was preposterous.

“Normal, no, definitely not.” Draco bit down on asking why Potter sounded disappointed at the revelation. Maybe even he was tired of being the first in the last century for every little magic nuance. Draco would be bragging to everyone who heard. “It is impressive though.” He looked back at the little seedling and wondered if his age had changed his own magic any. Would he still have one and a half? 

Harry stared up at the darkening clouds and snorted, “Must be if you’re saying so.” 

The amusement was short lived on his lips as Draco killed the idea _he_ was impressed by Potter’s magic and he coughed into his hand. 

“Home, then.” He remained as passive as he could, pulling Harry’s arm over his shoulder and apparating where he crouched. The destination was the only home Draco knew Harry lived like a wizard of his accolades and prowess. Ginny lived there too and Draco wanted to see how she would react at a defenceless Harry Potter landing on her front step. 

It took some manoeuvring, Potter silent and face like a smacked arse - Draco chapped the letter box before waiting. The footsteps were fast and unlike what Draco expected, it was Lily who answered the door. 

Upon seeing her father, she called out, eyes-wide, “Mum! Dad’s here!” And off she went further into the house, leaving the door open and Harry scowling but still to break his silence. Ginny didn’t so much as offer Draco a glance as she marched over to Harry, practically scooped him out of Draco’s hands. 

“Harry?” She cooed over him, worried beyond measure and Draco shifted at the memory his wife was dead. He wouldn’t find someone to do that to him again. He wasn’t that lucky. “Harry? What happened?” Harry didn’t say much, didn’t look at his wife in any way, but stared at the floor. 

“A word, Ginny.” Draco cleared his throat unsure how welcome he really was here, in their home. Ginny spared him some awkwardness as she nodded but excused herself - both her and Harry - as she shouldered him towards what Draco could only guess was a bedroom or guestroom.

He wasn’t sure what to say to Lily as she appeared to take to staring at him like a guard dog from the stairs.

“Is Scorpius with you?” she asked and Draco disappointed her. One word was all it took for her to huff, in a way Draco was used to seeing on Scorpius a few years prior and to leave him alone in the middle of the hall. Pictures - muggle and wizard kinds adorned the walls. The place was dimly lit, and made the off-white walls appear more yellow. He heard Ginny yelling, to Harry, something about staying put. Draco fidgeted with a spare galleon in his pocket. Information was useful and held power, hearing domestics was neither.

Ginny beckoned him to follow and he did so, knowing he was likely going to an interrogation. 

He decided to be the first to speak, to set the flow of the conversation from the get-go.

“Casting Tree seeds.” He settled the pouch on the countertop of the kitchen, and Ginny clasped it in her hands with a curious furrow of her brow. Then, Draco word-vomitted everything he could think was necessary for Ginny to know. “He should stop throwing magical tantrums if he drains his magic with these. Probably best once every few days. Just make sure not to give him any potions while he’s in that state. He knows how to use them but will need someone to deal with apparating home.”

That was everything, wasn’t it? 

“Thank you.” It was clipped and Draco shut his mouth to wait to see if she said anything else. She watched him and Draco knew what that meant.

“Excuse me, I’ve some business to attend to.”

“I’m sure you do.” Forgiveness was not something Draco ever asked of Ginny. He was grateful enough she could see Scorpius as someone else opposed to an extension of himself. That was all Draco ever wanted. Draco nodded and left in another apparation. 

Returning home and calling it a day, Draco went back to bed. It wasn’t even noon yet and it had been too much. 

He awoke again, hungry and listless. The plates he cleared was half the previous night and Draco found the luxury of having a lie in that following day did wonders for his mood. That morning he spent grooming away that which he couldn’t do previous, making sure if anyone appeared in his house, he’d look as a Malfoy should. Perfect.

With the curse lifted Draco transformed back into an owl. His bones crunched and crackled, his eyesight sharpened but became duller in colour. He could hear the wind and the creak in the house, the calls of the peacocks from afar. Testing out his wings, he fluttered down from the window to the garden below, and neither gave any twinge of discomfort. Good so far. He transformed back, found no pain as he morphed back to human and then back to avian. 

Excellent. Blaise might not have to die so young.

Then he was in air, around the Manor, hearing the mice in the fields scurry and squeak beneath. It was difficult to describe, in his human form, as the closest was the broom and the adrenaline going after a Snitch. But then, the air was nippy and cold but with feather upon feather, Draco felt little but cozy and comfortable. A bird in the sky was easily the most freeing Draco felt in his life. He could dive, roll around in the air as if he was the master of it. His wings were so large that by the time he soared over the roof of his home, he didn’t need to flap at all. 

He was slow moving, not like a falcon, and Draco took his time to observe his world from above. It was the crunch of gravel that alerted him to someone approaching the Manor. He turned, in a large, swooping circle to see who and made a shriek at the sight of Luna. Not anyone he needed to run and hide from. She did not jump as Draco landed in his shoes. Pity, he had never seen Luna anything but composed. The transformation hadn’t made her so much as twitch.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“You already knew it was me,” Draco drawled, watched to see if he could anything up from her expressions. He did not.

“Maybe.” Luna smiled, and Draco still wasn’t sure if Luna knew before or not. But she knew now. Draco preferred to deal in definites than possibilities. He noted the parchment in her hands but could not make out the waxy seals on any of the letters.

“What can I do for you, Luna?”

“I was sent this.” 

She handed him the stack of paper. The letter was poorly worded and scrawled like a rambling afterthought. However the text did speak of a dislike against Hermione, in which it would seem, Malfoy was targeted primarily. It was easy to pull apart working relations, mere acquaintances when one push for justice served another role. If Malfoy was so terrible a crux on the Ministry then Hermione was naive or wrong to allow him. Or vice versa, Malfoy was necessary to go so taking his only haven away, the more merciful and fair Ministry of Hermione’s, was a simple way to see him in Azkaban. 

“Thank you, do you know who sent it?” Draco read over the words on how Luna should wish to aid this cause because of ‘old wounds’. Old wounds always indicated the war after a certain point in conversation. The pure-blooded families didn’t like the idea they allowed or were privy to the Dark Lord’s plans. Old wounds, indeed. 

“Not a clue. But I do have a the owl who sent to waiting for a response.” The plan hinged on Draco locating the owl; an easy enough task for anyone who knew someone at the Post. But for Draco. he thought he might stalk the bird with his own set of wings and talons. It would be more subtle.

It wasn’t unfair of him to ask was it? Was it? As Luna turned to go, he panicked.

“Wait--” She stopped immediately, “I do need some help of my own.” Draco took to looking down at the letter to distance himself from the words he was going to say. She didn’t so much as blink as Draco asked her to accompany him to Diagon Alley in search of a gift to a woman who was in desperate need of a new cloak. 

“Let’s go then. The owl isn’t going to wait all day.”

“Thank you.” The nerves died and Draco walked with her. Luna giggled then and Draco wasn’t sure why.

It took thirty painstaking minutes to find a cloak Draco was willing to part coin for. 

“She’s a little shorter than you.” Draco stared down at the newly bought cloak. Exquisite in terms of taste - Draco’s tastes - but it may very well be the worst cloak Mary ever laid her eyes on. Did she like green? Perhaps a blue would have been better. Draco smoothed the corners of the parcel before turning it over in his hands. Why did people not wrap up items correctly? It was all wrong, all crinkled and ugly. 

“She can alter it herself, stop worrying.” Draco only nodded, not wanting to argue with Luna as they went towards to Emporium. Now, he wasn’t an ungrateful brat of old, he was new and improved and that meant he had to give gratitude towards Luna, who did not need to deal with being a messenger girl.

“Thanks again.” He had tried to sound nonchalant, confident and calm. It did not come across that way and Draco looked at the cobblestone, wondered if his owl blood would still be there. He was too nervous here, too many people and too many faces to see his vulnerabilities. Luna giggled again.

“You’re a good person, I think--” Draco turned to watch Luna as she turned a strange but fake looking Artefact in her hands from the stalls outside an overflowing shop of junk, “--when you aren’t being a prideful git.” Draco laughed, nerves all of a sudden bundling up and reminding him he didn’t deal well with most people. Even now, his reputation was built on work he could do, followed with what people perceived as Malfoy arrogance. 

Luna was held high, much like Hermione, because of their capabilities to look passed the past. Before, before everything, Draco would have mocked and refused Hermione when she asked for help, would have laughed at Ron and Harry trying to change the law of Aurors. But these days, accepting a compliment from anyone was easy enough, be it legitimate or not. The war made compliments rarer and Draco found Luna’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else. She was a clear honesty, without a hidden agenda that Draco was so used to these days. 

“Thanks,” Draco mumbled again and heard Luna’s laugh again. He wasn’t really sure he understood entirely why his face was hot at the sound. Hearing opinions on himself wasn’t too uncommon - it was the genuine thoughts that were few and far, leaving Draco in a limbo of not knowing friend from foe. Blaise and Nott knew him well, as did Pansy and Draco liked to think he knew them too. But not really. Did Pansy hate him? Did Nott find his company engaging - was Blaise even a friend out of earshot?

“Luna?” The voice made Draco freeze. Because of bloody course he was here, now. 

“Harry, it’s good to see you out.” Luna brightened and patted Harry on the back as if she was talking about him recovering from a bug than magical delinquency. “I’ll be back in a minute you two, I have to hand off a gift.” She had a tact to not include Draco in her goal even as she snapped up the parcel that Draco had turned over in his hands for the hundredth time. Potter just smiled, though seemed miffed at the dismissal if Draco was a betting man, and as Luna was swallowed up by the busy crowds of Diagon Alley, Harry spoke in his ear.

“You know you’re blushing, right?”

“Somewhat.” Draco twirled a loose galleon in his fingers, desperate for a distraction. Why did Harry have to be here? Why couldn’t they just not deal with each other again? That was nice. Go back to seeing each other two or three times in as many months, not days. He didn’t even want to look in Harry’s direction. He just kept remembering. 

“Luna’s married.”

“I’m not blushing because I fancy her, Potter.” He couldn’t believe this idiot, he tutted, “Is your mind constantly in the gutter?”

“Blaise is with a married woman, I just--” How did he know that, when just yesterday he was accusing Draco of messing about with Blaise? Someone was starting to talk too much over this, Theo would find out at this rate. Bugger. 

“You thought I wanted Pansy’s sloppy seconds and now I’m going to seduce Luna?” Draco raged, only to quieten himself as some people began to take notice of who was arguing in Diagon Alley, “It’s not my fault Blaise just needs to say a few words and you believe everything he says.” Draco scowled, “Luna is a friend. Why don’t I accuse you of shagging Hermione?”

“That’s not the same.” Draco ignored Potter then, as he could see Luna hand over the gift to Mary. He tried to see more, but knowing Potter he’d ask and so he stood, watching what little he could of Luna’s reactions. She was smiling, beaming and talking. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“It’s not the same, Draco.” Harry tried again, and Draco shrugged away the weight of Potter trying to lean into his space. “Hermione’s like a sister to me.”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter.

“And Luna is Luna to me.” He watched as she left the shop and he wanted Harry to leave so he could ask how well received his gift was. The urge to swoop her up and thank her was both overwhelming and promptly murdered. He couldn’t look too giddy over things going his way, that would raise some questions.

“Everything went well then?” He pocketed the galleon and watched as Luna laughed, outright and loud.

“It was a nice cloak. She loved it.” The words were too much and Draco tried not to seem too happy over the gift being well received. But with all good things, Potter had to ruin it by staring at him. Not that Draco could see it, but he could feel the pressure on the side of his face and he made a point to ignore the man. “Are you two arguing again?” Luna spoke with such a dismissive tone, Draco had an instinct to defend himself against it.

“Potter started--”

“Prideful.” Luna’s singsong of the word made him slump in defeat. She could talk a great deal of sense and wisdom only for the next sentence to be about some bloody fairy tale that not even children believed in. The three of them walked on, Luna in the middle. 

“You would have made an excellent Slytherin,” Draco said, a smile creeping over him at the thought of Luna being in his house for school. She would have unsettled Pansy and Daphne to no end. They had a certain procedure in making friends or enemies and Luna wouldn’t fit into either of them. Too disinterested in what Pansy or Daphne families but not hostile or petty back. 

“Gryffindor would suit her better.” Harry sniped over her head and Luna sighed, in a dreamy way she was in the habit of that made Draco always wonder what she was thinking.

“I liked Hufflepuff. They were mature for their age.”

Ouch. Draco scoffed, he was certain she would have made a wonderful Slytherin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how AO3 works with alerts, so if I happened to spam anyone when I was tweaking the previous chapters earlier, I am so sorry. It didn't occur to me it might happen till after. Anyway, edited a bit of the older chapters from typos and such. Once it's complete I'll do another comb for stuff. 
> 
> For those wondering: WHEN DOES THE H/D STUFF START?! I admit a lot of this is set up for plot and a base-line for how Draco thinks normally so by the end it isn't a deus ex machina or something waaay out of left field. But once it starts... it's just gonna snowball from there, till the very end. (Making a loyal Draco not want to stay 'loyal' to his dead wife is a tricky issue of easing guilt etc. Same with Harry, he's got some baggage to get through. I hope the non-romance parts are at least interesting enough till then. :'D)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos. I'm happy to drown in them.


	11. Mistakes Made

Even after the war, or rather The War, Draco still made mistakes. It was a rare and noteworthy time whenever he made the same mistake twice and today was a lesson Draco had forgotten. He was meek in the presence of Luna, inside her home, a study with numerous hand drawn pictures of strange and unreal creatures. She hadn’t looked him in the eye for an hour. She held up a wooden box for him to take, some rune-like engravings around the lid. Hollowed out but empty Draco examined it as Luna composed a reply to the mystery sender. 

“What is it?” Draco couldn’t understand a single rune and he would like to think after studying so many Dark Artefacts and doing his own protection spells against them, he would know at least one.

“It’s just a box,” Luna said as she scribbled down a response, the tawny owl impatient by the window. Going by its legs it was not well cared for, previously or currently as the scars were layered and some, raw and new. “It doesn’t mean anything.” She shook her head and Draco wasn’t convinced but decided against questioning Luna’s method, whatever it may be. 

“I’ll carry the letter, I don’t think I could take flying that anywhere.” He tried to get her to say something more, something long winded and more Luna. No response. She was writing. Draco ran his fingers over one of the fake runes before he managed the courage to ask.

“Are you mad?” 

Luna slammed down the stamp on a hot seal before she finally starting speaking. 

“You’ll make a liar out of me one of these days.” Draco stood up straighter, he wouldn’t attribute Luna with the word of liar. He tried to speak about how there were times when he held his tongue or when the people clamouring around him were too much. Why he had to defend himself against Potter -- it was unfair. What mistakes did Harry make that followed him for so many years? None, that’s what. But Draco would never make Luna lie or cheat for him, she had to know that much. 

“Change doesn’t mean anything if you revert back because it’s easier for you that way.”

Draco sat back on the edge of the table, not wanting to process Luna might be right. No, he was different. He had changed. This was Potter’s fault. This was Luna’s loyalty to him showing through. But her disappointment was heavy and it settled in his gut like stone.

She worked in silence, only the occasional hoot from the owl to break it. He hadn’t been nice to Potter, even if his magic had flared and shattered a window of a nearby shop. His face had spoke volumes, how horrified and sickening it all was. Potter should have cured his magic problems. They were still there even as Potter panicked, Luna trying to soothe him, Draco had reverted back. 

He’d laughed at him, said that of course, Potter couldn’t go a day without being the centre of attention. It hadn’t anything to do with the constant need to pull Luna away from Potter - him talking about old memories Draco had no way to add to - and it was unfair. Unfair for Potter to act as if Draco was the bad guy. All he wanted to do was see Luna, see to the this letter and nothing else. And here he sat, waiting on Luna to broach a subject Draco wasn’t sure he could handle.

Had he really changed? Had he done enough to be a ‘good’ guy now?

Draco sat the box down, and in turn changed into an owl. One that made the tawny hiss. He watched her quietly and rotated his head around, unsure and he hopped onto the table to watch her wrap the box up with string.

“I’m not falling for a cute face.” She prodded him and Draco found himself being pushed back. He forgot he didn’t weight much even as a larger breed of owl, most of that was his wings. In return he nudged her arm with his beak and waited. He was sorry. She gathered up the box and handed it off to the tawny, who hooted and off it flew. If the owl left too quick then even he would lose sight of it. He bounced his head, hoping to hurry her up. 

“Be careful,” she spoke to him soft and caring and for a single moment Draco wondered what would he have to do to lose Luna’s tentative friendship. Was being cruel to anyone a deal-breaker? 

He took the letter in his beak and off he went following the other. 

At his home, Draco never chased much prey or fellow wildlife. He did like to harass the peacocks. Which demanded he leave their territory with those puffed up tails and Draco would flutter up and down the field and he’d have his revenge after being bit by one, aged eight. 

Stalking another owl was weird. More like a slow moving snitch, but in a world where Draco could hear the squeaks and rummaging of mice below - the other owl was silent. A void of noise in a world where he could hear everything. The tawny managed well with the box, flying first over the busy buildings of London then outside it. Then Draco noticed the roads were less frequent and the world opened to fields and trees, hedges and rolling hills. 

Eventually, the tawny landed. The box clattering on the windowsill of a house, isolated and barely kept. Draco followed, standing and waiting for the letter Luna wrote to be received. He was not expecting Gregory Goyle to be the man behind a desk, writing the same letter over and over. Disgust blossomed under his feathers. Draco wanted to rip the man’s throat out.

They were friends, at least he supposed they were more lackeys than equals. Together for a long time even before Hogwarts, Draco had done the homework and the spellwork, and Goyle followed along with Crabbe. They were thick and their parents had all but told them to do whatever it was Draco wished. And Draco knew it. He knew they would do whatever he wanted, not much of a spine between the two. Not much of a brain. 

So, as Draco let the letter go, he peered at the half-written letter that Goyle worked on. It was the same as Luna’s, Old Wounds and asking for alliance. Another, a seal of Theodore Nott, his signature at the bottom, that letter read: 

‘Draco Malfoy is firmly in the Mudblood’s camp. Try Zabini. Idiot could use some money. Probably could sway his vote.’ 

Goyle didn’t offer either of them treats, shouted at the tawny to be quiet as it hooted. Draco looked around the room. Not common for a pure-blood’s residence. It was in need of a deep clean, and the cage belong to the owl held only a few rat carcasses. The rest of the room was a mess of papers, newspaper and handwritten letters. Goyle was not the most organised of fellows even now. Goyle regarded Draco with confusion, a common expression that Draco was used to. He might have wrote these letters but he was no mastermind. Draco waited till Goyle took the box and left. 

Shifting back, he hushed the territorial owl with a quick rat, and took to searching through the numerous replies. Luna was not the only one to have responded. Some used colourful language and told Goyle to die. Worrisome were the ones that asked Goyle to explain what he was planning. Draco wrote down the names. Theo and Blaise, he added too. First he would get them to tow the line. Then he could question Aksley and Wunderforth, Parkinson was there too but its hand was not Pansy’s. Possibly with the flourish on the y’s her mother. Her father wasn’t around any more. 

He did not take any extra time or the letters themselves as they would point to even Goyle someone knew of the plans to push Hermione out. So, Draco left in owl form and headed back to Luna. 

“It’s Goyle who sent you it. That means there’s someone else.” Draco wasn’t entirely sure who could persuade Goyle to commit to secretary work. Luna nodded, and stayed in her usual bubble, where Draco could never reach her. She was still mad, then. 

“How did you know, about me, being Fornax?” He tried again.

Luna preened under the question and Draco hadn’t a clue what to expect as she flared to life, “Rolf needed help in locating magical creatures. The fae kind are smaller than a pinhead sometimes. But only sometimes. We made this to help find them,” Luna said as she pulled on her necklace. One Draco hadn’t really taken in, as it was neither of great craftsmanship or beautiful. Two square chunks of metal threaded through copper and Luna regarded it like it was a wonder. “It said there was a magical creature about, but you were the only one in the room.”

“How does it work?” Draco asked, though not exactly too interested in it but relieved Luna was not so upset. Luna shook her head, poked one of the metal squares.

“I’m not really sure.”

This was the best time to leave. Just before the silence returned. Draco did have a busy schedule today and to lower suspicions, he left again on his wings. He needed to Floo to Theo’s. Apparation might point that he was not in the Manor to use that Floo line which would raise the question: where was he? 

It took longer than Draco hoped to return. But even with his arms aching and his stomach cramping again, Draco Flooed to Theo’s without so much as a greeting. He stood in Theodore Nott’s ancestral home, much like the Malfoy Manor its wards did not appreciate a random appearance. 

Whether it was the wards that alerted Theodore or not, he rounded the corner, mad with a wand at the ready, but dishevelled in way Draco wasn’t familiar. “Theo, a word. How much did you give the Goyles?”

Nott straightened and scoffed. “How much have you slid to Blaise?” 

Ah. That could be… problematic.

“You know, then.” Draco tried to look anywhere but Nott’s face. But it twisted in a cruel humour and Draco was uncomfortable all the more. It wasn’t his duty to inform people of their loved one’s affairs.

“Not the most subtle man Zabini. Pansy can be shagged by a centaur for all I care.” Theo shrugged and put his wand away.

“The next vote, you’ll give your support to Hermione.” 

“The Mudblood? I don’t think so. She’s had enough fun playing Minister,” Theo sneered back, and the intimidation tactic fell away leaving Draco to sigh as Nott tried to crowd into his space. Blaise could work a room, Nott couldn’t handle chit-chat over tea. 

“You will or I’ll have your secrets laid out on the Prophet.”

“Think you have more secrets to worry over, Malfoy.” Paranoia said he was talking about the rings, Draco guessed that Emit was Nott. But why say anything? Not that he would ever admit to it. How he knew in the first place was enough to put Draco on the defensive. He'd re-read the memory of the note later.

“You’re best at making knickknacks, Theo. Don’t start thinking you can play with politics.” Draco regarded how relaxed Theo seemed, how smug and sure. He might do well against Ron or Harry but Draco knew the man better. He continued, “so, you and whoever you can influence, will happily give Hermione another term.”

“The fuck I will. She’s out.” It was the smile that made Draco wonder if he’d ever seemed so sadistically inclined. “And I’ll have the best party over telling her to go fu--” Draco wanted to laugh at how Theodore was trying to anger him. He didn’t say the term these days because it held no meaning other than a memory of how wrong he was. If Theo wanted to say it till he was grey in the head, he could. It just showed how little he learned.

“--I might have secrets, some you might know, Nott. But trust me when I say this,” Draco leaned closer, pulled on the drawstrings of his ruffled cloak and smiled, “The Prophet will be more eager to hear of your philandering ways than Pansy’s.”

“Fuck you.” Nott sank into the wall behind him as if it was the only thing that kept him upright. 

“One good turn doesn’t get you another. Not in the real world. When Goyle contacts you again, be sure to forward it to me.” 

“Potter’s visiting you pretty often.”

A last attempt to barter, and a poor choice at that. 

“Is he? From Blaise I take it,” Draco trailed off, knew he still couldn’t say a thing about magic. Lie it was. “He’s got the impression there’s more Dark Wizards around. He’s quite adamant I know them.” 

Theodore didn’t hang around long after that and Draco yelled out a farewell. He flinched when he saw Pansy hanging at the door and Draco wondered how much she had heard. More likely she, wanting to eavesdrop, but not having the courage to cast, had her peer into the room once Draco shouted. 

“Pansy.” She didn’t return the greeting but glared. “I suggest you rally support for the current Minister. Unless you want your business on the pages of the Prophet.”

“We used to be friends.”

“We did.”

“You turned into the Mudblood’s bloodhound, running around at her feet.” Pansy tried her best to dig her claws in. And it was then that Draco saw the same smirk, once a long time ago, Draco found cute and endearing, that made him giddy and feel powerful and respected. He didn’t feel anything now. And with a smile all his own decided to own whatever label she might throw at him. For once, he wasn’t embarrassed to say he was on Hermione’s side.

“Woof.” Her disgust was immediate as if he'd infect her too with a sense of humour. 

"Get out. Now." 

Luna might like him to care for his words regardless of person. But he wouldn’t deal with the old Slytherin’s with anything but a sharp tongue and faster wit. Draco left, laughing at Pansy's upturned lip.

Theo was a maybe, Pansy was a maybe. Blaise was still an unknown. He might side with Pansy. Or he might go on his usual tirade of how his family was apathetic of all political and social views for a reason. Hanging on the fence was a sport for the Zabinis. 

Today was filled with more problems, ones which pointed to a rising offensive against the Ministry. Not under Draco’s watch. He’d weed them out. For now though, he returned home and called the day productive.

Again, Draco awoke during the night. This time it was the wards shattering and crying out in one last high-pitched whine that bled its way through Draco’s skull. He staggered out of bed, grabbed his wand and went to see what was so dangerous that the Manor woke him. If Moran had thought to attack him in his sleep, he would be mistaken. 

It wasn’t Moran or any of his croonies. But Harry, on his knees and hands over his ears. His magic was out of control, the windows shattered, the glass fragments spinning around in a vortex. Draco couldn’t hear the Manor anymore. What he did hear was the rush of magic, loud and screeching against whatever it decided to pick up and add to the hurricane that was in his bloody front room. 

“You said it wouldn’t happen again!” The accusation didn’t hurt. If only. Draco couldn't argue he liked to think he had solved what Hermione could not. That it solidified him as superior: but it hadn't. 

Glass started to burrow its way into the marble, scratching and clawing and Draco hadn’t seen anything like it. 

“Do you have the seeds?” Draco didn’t dare take a step towards him. If he were to guess, it was luck that Potter hadn’t splinched himself already. He’d need to use the seed here.

“I used them all already,” Harry shouted, and in the same moment a door ripped itself from its hinges and rammed into the wall. Draco stilled, scared he too might end up in a death storm. No seeds? How was that possible? How was he supposed to deal with this? 

“Hold on.” Draco could only hope that there were strays left in the field that Harry could use. He apparated to the field. Casting an _Lumos_ he searched, making sure not to fall to the temptation of _Accio_ -ing the blasted things. That would be pointless no matter the need for one. The air chilled his pyjamas and left Draco’s breath in the air. Dew from the grass soaked his feet and the bottom of his trousers. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.

“Damn it!” Draco couldn’t find a single one. Apparating again, he landed in the only Apothecary that stayed open twenty-four seven. One of the few shops, Draco was not welcome in even to browse. The warm air tingled at his cold-bitten fingers and face. 

“I need a Casting Tree seed, now.” Draco tried another tactic, because the sheer indifference by the madame here was too much. “Harry Potter needs it.”

“I’m sure he does.” The old fart didn’t shift from her slouch over the counter and Draco bristled. Sure, let everyone see him in his bloody pyjamas, freezing and arguing for one bloody seed that didn’t cost more than a pound of rat guts.

“Harry Potter is dying, he needs one.” 

“If you’re lying…” The threat trailed off and she set to work, adding a handful of seeds into the familiar pouch. Draco was never happier to have something thrown at his face. Apparating back, he knew he’d taken too long. 

The windows were holes in the wall, the entire frame being ripped from its origin. All the while, a spinning, maddening cycle of magic smashed everything together like a toddler playing dolls. Draco couldn't tell what furniture was in the air any more, all of it reduced down and splintered. His house elf, Lotty popped beside him, alarmed and crying at the mess. He could barely see Potter behind it all. 

He knelt down, trying to keep the house elf from its self-harm, “Lotty, I need you to make shield, a barrier - something - around this,” Draco raised the leather pouch and continued, “It needs to go to Harry Potter. Do you understand?” It was risky but no way would Draco survive a trip to the epicentre. 

“Yes, yes-- I’ll make it safe.” 

The ebb and flow of magic in the air was not normal magic. Not magic with a stated Will reinforced behind it - this was wild and did not, from what Draco could tell, show any heed to Harry’s Will to stop. Draco waited till the magic pulled on the chandelier before he threw the bloody pouch. It landed not too far out of Harry’s reach.

Maybe he recognised the bag, maybe it was just desperation but Harry crawled towards it and scooped it out of the way of an incoming gust that blew two legs from an armoire deep into the opposite wall. 

“There’s nothing to bury it in.” Harry held onto the bag, but couldn’t stop himself from clasping his hands over his ears again. Draco could only hope the leather and coating would protect till Potter got his hands on the damn seed. Agency would be nice right about now.

“The roots will find the earth, just use the bloody thing--” The marble was shredded more and more until Draco was scared that the whole Manor was going to fall; he was glad Scorpius was not here to see this, “--Before you destroy everything!”

Lotty quivered beside him and Draco watched in horror as the seed began to grow without Harry putting a hand onto it. Oh bugger. He’d been wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong. This wasn’t a Will issue at all. But it didn’t matter as the seed sprouted, faster than Draco thought ever possible. The howling died and was replaced with the lurch of leaves and branches, the swirling replaced with the sound of brick and stone being pushed to the ground. 

Grew and grew it did, until it shot out from the roof, its roots dropping into the Manor’s foundations like it was made of sand and still-- it grew. Lotty and Draco stood back, retreating into the next room only for those walls to be brought down by an errant low-bearing branch. 

When the destruction stopped and the night air chilled the room Draco returned to see Harry with his hand against the trunk. Clambering over the oversized roots, Draco pulled him away before it ate everything. Harry eyes were bleary, his face ashen. Draco looked around his sitting room, then to the roof - which no longer sat fully on top of the house, but in pieces at his bare feet. 

“Well, my father will definitely hear about this.” Harry yanked away from Draco’s hand at the scruff of his clothing, his face souring and Draco tutted, “That was joke, Harry. Keep up.” He was trying to lessen the tension. He was trying to stop the adrenaline that told him he was going to die if he didn’t do something, anything. Everything was fine, even Potter not getting his self-depreciating humour. Potter always assumed he meant the worst. 

Draco made his way back over some smaller roots, this time taking the easier, less robust path.

“Where-Where are you going?” It was the stumble over the word that stopped Draco. Potter didn’t sound fine. Turning back, he saw that Harry was like a kicked crup, desperate to not be left on its own and ever eager to follow. Knowing how sapped of energy Harry must be, Draco doubted he could stand never mind stand. But the bloody Gryffindor was trying to stand up, pushing himself again.

“We can talk once I’m dressed.” Draco nodded, and watched as Harry finally stopped trying to act the hero. Draco checked a sleeve and found it ruined with magical residue bleeding the colours to a horrid purple. He ignored the red. “Lotty, make some tea would you?” And he headed for his bedroom, eager to assess the damage before having a talk with Potter about his problem.

Potions. That was all Draco could think of that would cause this. And Draco wasn’t in the head-space to broach such a topic yet. He needed a breather. Potter needed help and Draco wasn’t sure if he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Early Update. My plan is to get another up on Tuesday, though we'll see how that goes. If I find it's not suuper stressful and I'm not going to burn out, I'll up it to 2 updates per week. Nothing set in stone right now. Just want to up the rate I'm writing at a bit. 
> 
> All together now: Poor Harry. =( He so needs a hug. And the Manor too. That needs therapy. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Those Muggle Things

Draco made it to his bedroom before he fell against the door and slid down it as his legs gave out. What the fuck just happened? His hands trembled and Draco couldn’t tell if it was from shock of the fact a bloody All-Mother tree was now implanted in his sitting room or because that magic in the air was gone. He checked on his arms, blood stained over where his Death Mark once sat. He laughed, bitter. Great. 

“Okay.” Draco stood and decided to take his time changing. Ignoring Potter downstairs, so long as he wasn’t foolish enough to touch the trunk of the tree he should be fine. 

It was weird noticing the damage, the ruin on his clothing when he wasn’t sure where or when it came from. Was the pain in his arm from jumping between locations too fast, or was his cut arm from glass? When? Draco hadn’t considered himself capable of hyper fixating on something, not like Nott does. He liked to multi-task, do several things in tandem for the most efficient time spent.

His feet were cut badly and it was only when Draco put socks on did he realise. Wearing proper clothing lessened his nerves. The healing spells took away most of the pain. Another task off his checklist. As he went through them, his hands shook less.

“Okay,” Draco said to himself again, not sure how to calm the mental jitters. How did Potter do this kinda thing everyday? Well, before. Before he took over the department and was running around with partners and solving crimes up close and personal.

“Are you still active?” The Manor was silent. “I’ll listen to you in future.”

How was he suppose to restore them? He stared into the mirror, noting some cuts on his face, red from the cold and the fickle material of his pyjamas in the fields. Those could wait, he washed his face keen to remove the dust from the bricks and fallen roof. 

Lotty popped into existence and Draco wiped his face dry. “Mister Harry Potter asks if you’ll be much longer.”

“No, I’ll be right down. Lotty-- thank you for your help.”

The elf left, humming a tune with Draco in-tow. The room was gone and nothing remained but these roots, everywhere in varying heights. A tray, served by Lotty, sat next to Harry on the floor. 

“Well, this wasn’t what I would call fun,” Draco said when he spied Harry picking at what seemed to be the fabric of the curtains hidden beneath the roots and mess. 

“This one looks different.” Harry looked up at the tree, in no longer held the translucent aspect, but its bark black and shimmering. “Why?”

“It’s impossible for a human’s magic to grow an All-Mother tree.”

“But I did.” Harry curled into himself, started back picking at the curtain.

“No, not really.” Draco took to sitting on one of the roots that let him sit high. He could see Harry’s face was covered in the same scratches and brick-dust. “I know what’s wrong with you.”

“You do?” The fact Harry sounded hopeful made Draco shift, and levitate over a cup of tea. This was going to be worse than any conversation they’d ever had. 

“Look,” Draco scratched his head, not sure where to start. “I’m going to say a bunch of things and they might be accurate, they might not. But it really is impossible for a human’s magic to do this to a Casting Tree, this takes more - mythical creature means. Or near an enchanted spring, or cultivated over centuries of numerous different families. One person just doesn’t take a Casting Tree seed and make a bloody All-Mother.”

“But I made this.” Harry didn’t sound like he wanted to admit that. Which might make this easier. Draco sipped his tea, while Lotty tended to Harry, offering a cup to him. He took it in both hands but didn’t make any effort to drink. Draco spied the yellow markings, interwoven around the brim - it was Astoria’s, then after her passing, Scorpius adopted it for all manners of beverage. Draco's was green where Scorpius' was yellow. 

“Right because you don’t just have your magic.”

“Voldemort’s dead.” Harry looked at him as if Draco was going to argue that point.

Draco grimaced. Okay, not his best choice of words. “No, I mean--” Draco rubbed his face, okay, so this could have him gutted like a fish again. 

“--I’m going to… assume you have been taking potions.” Harry flinched, “Potions that have a certain standard ingredient that was soaked in something else. Whatever mythical creature’s fluids.” Harry’s disgust was clear and Draco moved on, “Whatever potion you have is more potent than the average one anyone just goes out and buys.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Okay, look,” Draco levitated his cup and used his wand to add water, till it was filled to the brim. “This is what everyone is with their magic, it’s full. The strength of that magic depends on each person.” Draco flicked his wand up and some of the water separated, “When you use your Will to complete spells, your magic isn’t lost, it’s just not available in that person at that moment.” He grabbed Potter’s cup, who had it clasped between two hands and didn’t put up any fight for it.

“What potion was it?”

“Sleeping Draught.” Harry looked away, and Draco didn’t linger on it.

“Right, so let’s say this is you after a day’s work.” The cup’s contents half in the cup, the rest stay in circular forms in the air above. “Then, you take your Sleeping Draught - which has whatever mystical creature magic in it.” Some of Harry’s tea is added, speaking of which he’s looking at Draco as if he’s grown another head. 

“Then, the magic before, returns.” The cup overflows and Draco squinted at the sight, “You made an All-Mother, so my guess is you’ve been taking that potion for at least, what, five years?”

“Six.”

“How many times did you increase the dose?” Draco busied himself with refilling them with tea. Tea was needed. Tea solved everything. He tried not to think of what could possibly have happened to Harry six years ago, or what could horrify Harry after the War? What did he see in his dreams? Was it Voldemort? What was worse than that?

Harry’s mouth near disappeared into that thin line and Draco waited. He couldn’t say he would enjoy telling Potter about how bad his nightmares were - why else take a Sleeping Draught for so long? Harry scowled at him, and Draco went back to dealing with tea. He grabbed the nearest one and watched as Harry answered. It was always possible Harry would have refused to speak further and Draco went back to his perch. 

“Three, or four. I think. Ginny asked Charlie to make them.” Harry rubbed at his neck and accepted the cup of tea again. This time he seemed to stare at his reflection instead of nursing it in his hands.

“The Weasley that works with dragons? So, maybe dragonblood.” Dragonblood was powerful. More than too much for a simple Sleeping Draught. Charlie must be decent at brewing but not interested in potions enough to know the drawbacks of using different ratios of ingredients. Harry stared as Draco drank some freshly made tea. 

Draco expected Harry to launch to Charlie’s defence, to hear how he was making it sound wrong and that Charlie would never do such a thing (not deliberately, Draco would argue back and maybe Harry would say--) 

“I’m sorry I destroyed your house.”

Draco blinked, his guard less lowered and more unbalanced. He hadn’t really thought of his house being destroyed as it was. The All-Mother tree was in the way, but nothing Draco couldn’t repair in a few days after it vanished from lack of magic. The windows were a problem but nothing galleons couldn’t fix. Wards were the only problem.

“Maybe I deserve it in a karmic backlash from earlier.” Draco sipped again and watched as Harry rotated the cup in his hands. 

“I don’t think that means I get to--” He looked around, and seemingly saw the lack of roof for the first time. “--I don’t think I can keep this from Hermione.”

Draco snorted, imaging how that conversation would go, until he saw Harry was serious. “You can’t tell Hermione. She’s the Minister. Your boss.”

“And my best friend.”

“And your boss,” Draco countered, hoping it would sink in. “If you tell Hermione, she’s going to have to force you to give up your job. And if that happens, the Prophet will be all over her - and you - and everyone else who's ever so much as stood in line with you to give an opinion as to why.”

“So, we’re just going to keep this to ourselves,” Harry said and nodded. For a second he raised his cup to his mouth, only to realise what he was doing before lowering it again without taking a drink. Draco was offended. He wouldn’t poison tea. 

“Did you just--” Try and lead him to that conclusion? “--that wasn’t very subtle.”

“There’s a tree in your house. I don’t need to be subtle.” 

Draco couldn’t help it as much as he told himself to bottle the bubbling feeling up and through it away, but he devolved into giggling and then to laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. There was a tree in his house. An All-Mother. Because of Potter. Because of course it bloody was. 

He sighed, remembering the house wasn’t just a building, “Lotty!” The elf reappeared, “Do me a favour and check the heirlooms, make sure none of them have ran off.” 

“All are safe. Lotty already made sure!”

Oh. “Finally, some competence.” Lotty’s ears perked up before she gave a nervous look to the ruined marble floor. 

“Will I clean this mess now?”

“Wait till the tree shrivels.” Draco took a drink of his tea and loathed the idea Mother or Father would arrive for an unannounced visit. Lotty hummed her tune and popped away. Other than keeping Scorpius safe she was always asked to keep a close eye on the Darker Artefacts within the Manor. 

“You don’t have to drink it.” Harry froze as if caught, “Do you not like tea?” Draco leaned over to see if he’d made even an attempt. 

“No, no it’s fine--” Harry pulled the cup closer to him.

“The Prophet would have a field-day with this. Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Evil and Detester of Tea.”

“I like tea, I just don’t--”

“Want to drink what I handed you?” Draco prepared himself for the worst.

“Yes--no.” He slumped against a root behind him and Draco wasn’t sure what to take of it. Which was the honest answer? The sting was there and now, Draco wished he hadn’t bothered to push. “No, I just--” Harry kept spinning the cup around in his hands, “It’s nothing.”

As Draco watched, Harry was hesitant to drink. “...Is this a Muggle thing?”

“I don’t think - maybe. Do you… share goblets?”

“Yes?” Draco wanted to know now what Harry was even talking about right now. Muggle Studies never said anything about sharing cups or goblets or anything of the sort. “What sort of Muggle faux paus have I committed?” Harry went a strange red that started at his neck and crawled up it. 

“I haven’t proposed marriage, have I?” Harry spluttered his first sip of tea and Draco laughed at the coughing fit and the flailing. So, it was nothing legally binding in the Muggle world. He only knew of the oaths and whatnot of older Wizards and Witches that liked to make sure loyalty was followed through on. But really, had Potter never shared anything with Ron or Hermione? Blaise practically stole his pumpkin juice at Hogwarts every dinner.

Draco waited until Harry calmed, him trying again to drink and asked, “Did I proposition you?”

“It’s a stupid thing. A kid thing, it just popped into my head.” Harry shook his head more, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Draco wasn’t sure what to think. 

“To share goblets?” Only Muggle children shared? Was that was what he was to take away from this? Or just shared beverages? Or was it the fact it was in-- Oh. Draco didn’t see the yellow on Harry’s cup, but green -- someone else’s cup? Muggles shared the same bathroom cubicle, didn’t they? What was the big deal? He would never understand Muggles.

“I just mean. I’m overthinking things. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll ask Hermione. I’m meeting her in the morning.” He didn’t raise to the bait and sipped more. According to Harry, this topic of conversation was over. Fine. He would ask Hermione. And Draco would know then. And Draco would make sure Harry knew, he knew and he could win, petty victory or not. “Speaking of which, you can be on guard duty when I step out.”

“That’s not my job.” Harry scowled into his tea, but didn’t meet Draco’s eye. Draco supposed it was difficult for intimidation to be flared with a blush. 

“The hole in my roof says otherwise.” Harry scoffed, was about to open his mouth and probably be combative, say whatever impulsive thing he had in his head and Draco refused it. He bet him to the new topic. “How about this arrangement? I’ll make your Sleeping Draughts without any ingredients that would prolong your lack of control.”

“And in return?”

“When the wards go back up you add to them.” Harry didn’t agree but neither did he refuse. So, leaving that till after his early morning meeting, Draco left Harry and the All-Mother. He didn’t expect Harry to chat so much with Lotty, or for her to accept his questions so easily. Lotty wasn’t a ‘front of house’ elf. She stumbled too much over words, made a mess of requests and even cried over having to greet those she didn’t like. 

Hours later, Draco saw how Potter footered about, hovered nearby and tried to make it look like he wasn’t on edge as the time neared that Draco would be leaving to his morning meeting with Hermione. He was almost out the door when Harry blurted out, “Hermione doesn’t know about the potions.”

Well, now it made more sense. Of course Hermione didn’t know about the potions. But Ginny had, he’d said that night to avoid them. Such a fierce magical reaction was on point of Harry consuming one too many. “Can I ask, did Ginny not tell you to avoid potions?” It was never a comfortable moment for Draco to ask about spouses, about the wives and husbands who were very different to what he and Astoria had. He wasn’t sure he could ever have that happiness again.

“She did. I thought she was just using you as a mouthpiece, I guess.” Harry shuffled and Draco looked over him for any more hints as to why the embarrassment. All Draco saw was more cuts and dirt that Potter had refused to remove despite Draco’s permission to use the part of the Manor that still stood to clean up. 

“She’s told you before, then. To stop--”

Harry burst, as if the lines he rehearsed would disappear unless he got them into the air, “I’m not addicted, okay? I get it, everyone says that blah blah blah blah, I’m not. I can stop as soon as I can get some sleep that doesn’t wake me up every two minutes. I can stop and don’t need some Healer talking to me as if I’m broken--”

“I would never suggest a Healer in the first place. They’d remove you from your position if you so much admit to requiring one.” Draco was more than aware of the strict and necessary health of Aurors and Unspeakables. If Draco were to guess, the new rules were meant to reinforce a healthy workforce to admit issues, receive help and return to work. It did the opposite.

“You’re not?”

“If anything, Harry I’m more impressed over how Hermione and Ron have managed to cover you from any backlash these past years.” This made perfect sense. Why the Weasley was back in the Aurors, why Potter was watched with such a careful eye but allowed to spend time ‘sick’ despite looking perfectly well. Attaining another puzzle piece was always a buzz in itself. Now, Draco was more prepared on how to handle Hermione and her no doubt loyalty to Harry.

“You are?”

“Stay put. Unless of course the Manor falls down.” Lotty made a sound of pure horror at the suggestion and Draco smiled at the poor thing, she never did get his more pessimistic humour. He excused himself, but stopped at the threshold and decided to play it safe.

“If anyone visits, you can make up whatever lies you wish. Just make it reasonable.” 

Harry just nodded, in a dumb, sort of endearing way, like a crup being told to wait without question. 

Hermione’s office was as clean as Draco’s sitting room. Books were everywhere, lines of paper were overhead, flying out and in. She sat in chair that wasn’t plush or overly comfortable but had wheels - a novel inventions by Muggles - and Draco knocked on the door as he saw her brow deepen the longer she read. 

“I hoped you’d come in today,” she said. Waved her wand and the door shut and the usual charms for their privacy went up. After a night of magic that tore at his skin, this was a warm balm. 

“I’ve a few things to tell and a few to ask.”

“I have to ask you to sign this,” she slipped over a long document. His stomach dropped and he shifted at the sheer outspoken gall she had to do this. He wanted turn and run. 

ANIMAGUS REGISTRY FORM

“Don’t misunderstand, Draco. I expect you to take the form with you.” Draco blinked, unsure how much of her words to believe, “Hide it wherever you wish but I need it stamped, today. So if anything happens, I can say I knew because you told me already, today.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat he couldn’t allow this to happen, “No one will know? Not even that husband of yours?” He was spiteful, he was stuck. 

“It’s not the first secret this job has made me keep from Ronald.”

“And Harry?” Because Harry definitely didn’t know, he was still under the impression he was forced into that form. 

“I don’t talk about work with my friends, it helps to separate the two. Draco sit and sign it.” No platitudes or begging, bribery or blackmail. It could be worse, it could be logged into the Ministry where anyone with high enough clearance could take a gander. He could take this and hide it. He could do that. He could do this. Hermione was trustworthy. Wasn't she?

“Very well,” Draco signed it, loathing how his name dried and turned a fire red before an acknowledgement of the day burned into the corner. Hermione peered over the desk to check before she smiled. 

“Thank you, Draco. It means a lot.” Draco was guilty over removing that smile, but it was necessary. 

“The purebloods are moving against you. Again. Goyle is a lackey, like usual. I don’t know who orchestrates it yet.”

“It’s about the subsidiary vote, then.” Hermione sat back in her chair and Draco wasn’t sure how calm she could be at the reveal someone - somewhere - was coming after her and her job. 

“No. It’s not about anything you can change.” Draco dropped his eyes to his shoes because he knew whenever she heard the term, she probably thought of the word engraved on her arm. By his aunt. The torture she inflicted. Draco wanted to say he couldn’t remember her sobbing and screaming in his Manor. But that would another lie to add to the pile. 

He didn’t look up until she asked, “How many?” And he didn’t glance at the way she had pulled her arm under the table, out of view. 

“I have twelve votes for you but I assume Pansy and Theo’s parents along with them will be against. Golye and the other Death Eater families will rally behind them. That about evens it out. Blaise might be swayed either way. I’ve some favours I could call in if necessary.”

“No, not yet. Though keep them close,” Hermione sighed, “Thanks for letting me know. I imagine I’ll know more soon too.”

Draco stood up to leave and then remembered. “I wanted to ask you about something Muggle, if you have time.”

“Where did you see anything Muggle?” she jested in good humour and Draco relented. 

“From Harry. He acted very… odd and wouldn’t explain.” Draco saw her shake her head and tut, “I was wondering if I’d done something terrible.” No, he didn’t. (Had he?) But an avenue to appease guilt might help Hermione to reveal what really happened. Especially if it truly was a childish action. 

“Sure but I’ll be busy while you explain.” Hermione didn’t ask for confirmation she just started writing. 

“I shared a cup of tea with Potter and I don’t understand why that made him blush.” 

Hermione stopped writing, she bit her lip before asking, “From a different cup or the same cup? And he blushed?”

Okay, now Draco knew he was a touch on the paranoid side but this was not the conversation he had envisioned and as such: it was going very, very bad.

“Yes? It wasn’t on purpose? It was the same cup. Does that make a difference?” Draco did not want to hear how he had actually offended Potter in some way. That might go to explaining why he wasn’t too keen on staying in the Manor. Hermione put her quill down after three words and that, that in itself was horrifying and Draco could feel the sweat on the nape of his neck and -- he shouldn’t have said anything. He’d take it back, all of it.

“I think I should say, Harry I mean, has a thing - not a bad thing but, but a thing about affection.” Hermione may have started to explain - what, Draco wasn’t sure - but he regarded that ever growing smile on her face as dangerous.

“What I did was--”

“No, no. He just wouldn’t have felt very comfortable explaining it.” 

“Oh, so it was a--” An insult. Good. That explained it. Draco would never bring this up again. 

“It’s a joke, a juvenile one at that. But it’s called an indirect kiss.”

Ron opened the door and the wards fluttered away--

“I did not kiss him!”

\--Draco wanted to defend himself and run away and why was this escalating, Ron shut the door-- 

“Indirect-kiss thing?” Ron squinted his eyes and suddenly, Draco found himself furious. What?

“Did you know about this? This Muggle… buffoonery?” How many Muggle traditions were this weird? How, just how--How was he ever going to share anything ever again? Ron gave him the only sympathetic smile in the room. Unsettling.

“I ended up sharing one with Edgard. Speak for yourself.” Ron faked a retch and Draco didn’t care. He didn’t care Ron and Edgard shared a drink. Why was this even called a kiss? What could possibly make this a kiss?

Pansy and Astoria. That was it. That's all who Draco had snogged, he did not-- No.

“How is that even a--”

“Don’t ask. Seriously. Don’t. It’s the grossest--” Ron grabbed his shoulders and nearly shook him, but his face was serious and Draco couldn’t not ask. He couldn’t not know what made Ron’s face seem as if Draco had turned into a human-spider.

“I want to know. Now.” And it was when Ron slouched and sighed, and Hermione yelled did Draco realise he should have listened. Remained ignorant and in confusion. Not enlightened. To this.

“You exchanged saliva!” A cackling Hermione spun on her chair and Draco decided she was mad. Mad as the Muggles. And Draco reared back, desperate to escape this - this Muggle nonsense and those who knew of it. He heard Ron offer an apology but Draco darted away because oh Merlin that was - no. No, he didn't want to think about-- what kind of sickening _monsters_ were Muggles?

That-- Draco cried out and left the Ministry and headed back to the Manor. He made his way to the lift and tried, failed, to stop replaying Hermione’s laugh in his head. How was he even supposed to go home and face-- Wait. The fellows on the lift cooped themselves into the corner as Draco glared ahead. Harry knew this would happen. Oh, that wanker. That absolute tosspot -- Potter had _played_ him.

Potter would pay. As soon as Draco's face stopped burning. Fuck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an update _within (at most) 7 days from the last update_. So, it might not be consistent in what days that I upload but overall, I will have more chapter for you to read sooner. Woo! This also means if I struggle with a chapter I still have the week to push through instead of panicking over not uploading on certain days of the week. I've got time right now and want to take full advantage. =D
> 
> Vrooom. That's the sound of Draco's revenge engine.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	13. A Dragon's Instincts

A group of purebloods were after the Minister. Someone was after the Rings of Celius. His house lacked the wards of old and remained vulnerable. He’d allowed Potter to pull one over him with this Muggle notion of trading spittle meant a kiss (that said too much on what Muggles thought a kiss entailed, really). And in his rush out of the Ministry he noticed no registry form in his hands. Bugger.

He wasn’t on top form lacking sleep. Nothing dulled the mind faster than fatigue. Unacceptable for a Malfoy, he heard his father lecture. What could he do but soldier on? Potter had agreed in return for potions - another task added to his list - to add some of that ridiculous magic. The wards should hold after that, how long the All-Mother took to collapse was a mystery. As was the next attack on the Manor. 

Meek wasn’t what a Malfoy was - no longer, not with Voldemort gone. He could return to Hermione’s Office and grab the form from her desk. But he wouldn’t. Maybe he should move permanently to France and retire of his political games. What could he do? Return and face Hermione? Or go home and deal with Potter? Failing to pick the document up was the more embarrassing of the two. Home it was. He’d send her an owl later, not that she hadn’t noticed already. 

She had made a mistake. One which gave him an advantage to rile Potter. He’d let Hermione explain, practically pushed Draco to ask someone else. Because Potter was just as embarrassed over it. Draco Malfoy had this - if only his pride would settle at the sound of laughter in his head. 

Revenge, tree, wards. That was the plan. 

He apparated where he stood, just outwith the Anti-Apparation wards and returned to the sitting room. The All-Mother was shrinking, her roots no longer extended towards the other rooms and her once black shimmering bark was turning purple. Her leaves were spines now blanketing the floor, translucent and shiny. Maybe in a few hours, with no other magic to feed her, she’d be gone today.

Lotty and Potter had their backs to him, both still sitting on the floor. From what he could hear, Lotty was bugging Potter to have more. Draco waited for second and decided, he might as well. 

“Potter! Is Hermione having me on or is what we did really counted as Muggle snogging?” It was entirely worth it to see Potter spray out a mouthful of tea and choke. Lotty jumped out of the way and scowled at Potter’s poor manners. Good. Although, this time Potter’s red face wasn’t a sure thing. Was he embarrassed or did Draco need to spell the tea from his lungs before he died?

Coughing and spluttering, Harry became more animated as he twisted round to show his disgust. “No! It’s not actually a bloody-- no. What the hell did she tell you?” 

Lotty made herself small and disappeared without a word. If Potter thought it so fun to mess him about Muggle ignorance, well, Draco would play the part as a bloody idiot. One that questions and never lets the conversation move on. Potter would never bring up anything Muggle related again. 

“So, how does it work? If I accepted was I the recipient or was I the instigator?” Draco watched as Harry’s disgust turned into concern, a suspicious sort and Draco fought not to laugh at his face. 

“Hermione didn’t say anything like that.” As if she hadn't howled at him and made Draco flee. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and Draco tutted. It was no fun if Harry knew he was teasing, that wasn’t the point.

“No, of course not. She’s a busy woman, Potter. I’m asking you to define it better. It was nice of her to explain so much. You brought it up. You explain it.”

“Why are you fixating on this?” Harry wiped the back of his hands over his mouth and chin, then on his trousers. 

“Why not? I’m curious how many people I’ve kissed ‘indirectly,' is it so common with Muggles that it doesn’t matter? Is that why you didn’t just ask for another cup?”

“This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever--”

“Wait. You didn’t drink from the yellow. So, my drink was uncontaminated, right? Does that change anything? You said it to me earlier: you know you’re blushing, right?” Prodding Harry's side with his foot wasn't as funny as Harry batted him away. This definitely felt like a win for Draco. 

“You’re such an arse.” Shaking his head, Harry tried his best. “How long before my magic listens to me again?”

“Which part of this conversation is making you try to change the subject? I thought it wasn’t anything serious.” Draco knew he'd taken it too far when Harry shook his head and picked himself up. 

“I’m leaving. Unless you want another room destroyed.” He shoulder checked Draco on his way passed and Draco rolled his eyes.

“No you’re not. You need new potions for one.” He reached out, grabbed the scruff of Harry’s clothing and pulled him back. Potter might as well have growled for how feral he was. “You’re genuinely angry.” Not only that but Potter was ready for a fight, the muscle in his jaw twitching and as Draco let go, Harry’s fists shook in effort. Never mind how close was Potter from hexing him instead, how close was he from punching him in the face?

Harry said nothing for a long time. Not wanting to cut off whatever sliver of control, Draco remained still, silent too.

“I’m always angry these days.”

“You’ve been drinking dragonblood for years, I’m not surprised.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” The scowl returned tenfold and Draco would like to think he didn’t have to soothe Potter after every word.

“Dragons aren’t exactly the cheeriest of mythical creatures.” Watching, Draco saw Harry wasn’t lying in his struggle to see reason.

“Your name fits then.” It surprised Draco, how ugly anyone could become when they spouted vitriol so freely. Potter was never this sensitive before, never this easy to mock and push. Those potions hadn’t done him any favours. Harry closed his eyes and ground out a reply.

“Sorry, everything annoys me. Noises, people - everything.” He scratched his head furiously, and Draco forced the laugh down again. Did his hair finally become a point of contention?

Extreme irritability. Not the most shocking in terms of side effects of consuming potions. Really, think of Potter to end up with the dull ones. However, as he saw Harry glare at his feet Draco considered the time limit before Harry exploded, might be closer than first thought. 

“Let’s fix you that potion now.” It would seal the deal, a physical reminder even Harry couldn’t ignore. But Harry not knowing anything about brewing, Draco extended some critical reminders. No potion was miraculous, no matter what it appeared to be. “Your magic isn’t going to set itself right from the instant you take one. You’ll need a while for the dragonblood to filter out.”

“How long does that take?” Harry snapped and wouldn’t appreciate it but Draco needed to settle this with Potter as quickly as possible. He still needed to message Hermione about sending the form back, concealed. Harry couldn’t complain too much if Draco was walking off to help him. So, Harry was abandoned in the ruined sitting room, and he headed for his laboratory.

Harry practically walked up his heels as they went. And as they entered a clean, but too pristine for it to be in regular use, lab Draco set about finding the ingredients he needed. Cupboards and cabinets lined one side, the other bookcases stacked high with theory, recipes and notes from Malfoy’s through the ages. Centre stage was a plot of earth, numerous non-aggressive plants out in the open. The air here always was perfumed to the point of Draco tasting floral at the back of his mouth.

“No idea. I don’t use dragonblood. Too unstable, too strong. A single dose might take four weeks. You’ve been at it for years.” Draco set about his lab, not comfortable with the staring scowl that followed his every move. He snatched a clean looking measuring cup from the cupboard, two spoons for the mucus and a mortar and pestle to grind the mixture of herbs. 

“How many do you take in week?”

“Seven,” Harry answered, and Draco tried not to response to that in itself. What Harry meant couldn’t be he had taken a potion every day, for six years that contained a volatile ingredient most brewers and masters wouldn’t add for the sheer integrity of the potion. Dragonblood did not have the longest shelf life and other than innate power there was always a more stable, cheaper alternative. 

“What year did Charlie take over the brewing?” Draco turned his nose up at the jar labelled in his handwriting, ‘Flobberworm Mucus,’ and took a large dollops on the spoons before setting them back into an overhead cabinet. 

“Year three.” 

Doing the math in his head Draco scowled, at first believing himself wrong that in his age and weariness had him unable to do simple sums. “Potter, that’s--” He did it again, the weeks in a year multiplied by three, times seven. Draco knew he was right. “You bloody idiot! That’s over a thousand vials with dragonblood.” He gave a once over to Potter again. How was he still sane? Blood of any creature had enough to cause addiction — and that was the kindest results. 

But Harry didn’t look mad any longer, only tired and torn as he rested his head against the stone, arms folded into him as if to keep him warm. “So, how long am I going to feel like this?” He might sleep standing there, eyes closing and Draco’s curiosity was awakened. Was there ever a documented case of such prolonged use with such a potion? The longest study was a year and that was ended because the afflicted associated lacked enjoyment and desire for life, all participants wanted to sleep and sleep and nothing else. Apathy made them change into different people. The study ended in failure, its two year goal unreachable and unethical. No one tried again.

“Angry irritated, or angry burn down the house?” Draco tired to distract himself, not look so keen on the answer. He nearly sneezed at the cuts of valerian sprigs. Not very fresh but they would do their job. 

“Hmm, both. It veers between them.” Harry made a frustrated little noise then and Draco paused in handling the cauldron, it would make too much noise as Harry’s voice was now all but a murmur, “I’d really just like some sleep.”

“Something we both agree on.” He set aside the basic herbs to be mashed together to create a standard ingredient primer. 

Harry made an attempt to open his eyes but didn’t get very far, “I thought you said you could make the Sleeping Draught?”

“I can, it’s a simple potion. I just like to dream.” Draco sighed as he set the last, sprigs of fresh lavender next to the cauldron. Everything was set up. “Once this is brewed you can test it here.” Harry almost tired to argue, his frown returning. “Don’t. It makes more sense for you to stay here unless you want to go home, drink a potion and potentially have your dragonblood go crazy again and have to return. If something doesn’t work, then the quickest way is to stay nearby for me to check or fix it.”

Harry might have said something in reply. Might have said several, really. Brewing was always an easy task. But it still required focus. Preparing, adding ingredients keeping an eye on temperature and stirring in the correct orientation and intensity was textbook. A list of tasks, Draco found simple to follow. He never understood how people could incorrectly brew a potion. Just follow the instructions, to the letter and wha-lah, a potion. Child’s play, really. 

It was a calming activity, one with simple and obvious progress. Taking the mixed herbs, he added them to the mortar, crushed them until they were still crisp - not yet mushed - but broken and battered enough to break open each fig. Draco magicked the water in the cauldron. Then he started to measure the broken herbs. He removed half from the mortar, two measures worth. Adding to it, his sprigs of lavender, and a touch of water too and this time created a paste. Thick, but not clumpy or sticky. He measured it three and a half, more than he needed. The cauldron got its first ingredient, then its second - the mucus and the other two measures of herbs. The heat underneath, Draco kept an eye on the thermometer, making sure it was not rising sharply and boiling too strong. 

A smell of spice, strong enough to tingle at his nose told him to add the two measures of paste into the cauldron. He added some magic, tapping his wand on the cauldron twice. Now, he had time to waste. Rubbing at his neck and shoulder Draco glanced at some movement to his right and flinched. Well, he had forgot Potter was here and he didn’t seem too happy at that. 

What Draco could only assume of the potions Harry was taking previous was the staple way in brewing the Sleeping Draught. Changes were necessary to this recipe and it would another hour at that before Draco could add in the extras to give it enough kick. 

Draco used his hour wisely, spending it browsing cupboards and adding the jars, the measuring cups and more clean spoons to the table where the cauldron sat bubbling. Going back and forth, Draco picked several ‘could-be's’, ‘might-works’ and ‘possibly-promising’ ingredients next to one another. Now to remove those that would negatively impact the result.

Harry must have said something, several time over as he pushed himself away from the wall and stood next to Draco, looming over to have a look in the cauldron. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Draco didn’t hear much with the way Harry kept on muttering. 

“What is it? I’m focusing right now.” Draco ignored the paranoia Harry might ruin the bloody potion and kept an eye on where he put his hands. He might even ruin it by being too near, if that magic decided to make itself heard. Why couldn’t he just stay, over there, next to the comfy wall and out of Draco’s way.

“I said, ‘You didn’t even notice I left,’ and I’m guessing that’s a no.” 

Draco stared at the thermometer, still within an acceptable heat range. “You left?”

“Checking the tree.” Draco used the silence to assume using herbaria wasn’t compatible with the flabberghasted leeches. Then he could only use one, and considering that the problem was--

“Draco, seriously, can you listen?”

Draco hummed, he wasn’t interested in whatever Potter had to say. Poppy heads might work, combined with the herbaria and boiled. But boiled too long and it might lack the added effectiveness straight away. No, no, that wouldn’t work. This would be much easier if he knew what Charlie’s recipe. 

“We could use the seeds to sap the magic from the All-Mother.”

“That’s the dumbest idea you’ve had yet.” Draco checked the borage and saw some leaves were starting to tint brown and red, rotting away. Best veto them now. “The All-Mother is the brain, it absorbs the magic the Casting Trees bring her. The whole reason they disappear is because her roots aren’t connected to them to keep them stable.”

“But we wouldn’t be giving them magic.”

“Casting Trees take the magic and feed it to her. It doesn’t go the other way just because you’d like it to, Potter.” Draco placed the bluish herbs down and didn’t see the flash of rage across Harry’s face until he was being shoved against table - thankfully build into the wall and floor to minimise movement - that would bruise.

“What are you doing?” He spared only a glance to the cauldron and then Harry was back to shoving him again.

“Stop ignoring me.” Okay, Potter was nuts, absolutely gone off the bend. Extreme irritability coupled with, what? What even did this stem from? Being told his idea was shit? Draco kept his eyes on Potter, whose face twisted in fury. 

“Harry,” Draco started carefully, at ease despite the fact he was not. The potion needed only a few more minutes before the next batch of ingredients went into cauldron. He needed Harry to just stop, gain control back and sit back down. Neither of them would benefit from a restored All-Mother, a blown up laboratory and Draco was not looking to visit the hospital any time soon. “You need to calm down.”

Please? Because angry Potter was just a tad… scary. Maybe he understood Ginny a bit better now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Gulping back a snarky comment Draco looked away. Best not upset him further.

“No, no, no. Not again. I didn’t mean -- sorry.”

As Potter melted to the floor, holding his hands over his ears, Draco’s gaze darted to the exit. Calling on Lotty to remove Harry might work once. If Harry wanted to come back, nothing would stop him. A plan with no resolution was no plan at all. Now, Harry was squeezing his eyes shut and Draco squatted down.

“Harry.” he tried at first to coax his hands away but Harry didn’t budge. They struggled a little, until Draco pushed his thumbs between Potter’s jaw and wrists. The potion hissed as it boiled over into the flames and Draco dismissed it as a failure. What a lot of good it would do anyway. For another struggle, all his own, Draco panicked if his handling of Potter had made him far worse. 

“Harry, I’m going to need you to tell me which of these apply to you.” Harry made no acknowledgement he’d heard. “Do you hear things? See things you don’t want? Thoughts that just -- appear out of nowhere?” Draco pried Harry’s hands away and asked again, and again until Harry bowed into himself. Only now, he latched onto Draco’s wrists and Draco felt his bones nearly crumble under the pressure.

“It’s not me. I don’t want to. It’s not.” Harry took a shaking, upsetting breath, “I think about how I could hurt someone and I’d get away with it. I’m Harry Potter, everyone should be grateful to me. I’m the Master of Death, everyone--” Draco knew most people boasted, exaggerated but that ‘Master of Death,’ what a thing to think, “--everyone should just do what I say. I hear it, I hear how they think I’m just perfect and I hate it. I hate it. I hate them all.” Draco listened to his rambling and also, its inconsistencies, a clear indication Harry Potter was both warring against itself and how the blood was changing him.

This was going to need more than a simple sleeping potion.

“I want to hurt people.” Draco couldn’t see his face but he knew he was crying. His words choked and smothered him, and Draco hadn't a clue what he could say that would matter. “I don’t want to. I don’t. That’s not me.”

“Harry, it’s the blood that’s making you feel this way, we just need to filter it out. Then you’ll be back at work and everything will go back to how it was.” Draco was always taught never to give or listen to platitudes instead of facts and evidence. But he rambled, unsure how to comfort and make sure Harry didn’t think his scenario was the end all. Draco didn’t want Harry to be defeated by a bloody potion after defeating Voldemort. That wasn’t fair. The world couldn’t be that unfair.

“I can’t be near people. I just keep thinking, how easy it would be to kill you. To cast another _Spectrum Sempra_.” Alarmed, hearing his blood in his ears Draco tried to escape Harry’s grip. Twisting and pulling but Harry didn’t move, all it did was make Harry curl and bow more into himself. “I scare everyone. And sometimes, I think - good.” His feet were starting to go numb, a threat of pins and needles and Draco took a chance, a risk to put Harry back in control for a time. 

“A potion won’t help you, it’ll just keep adding onto this feeling. You need-- I need to ask Hermione for a release on an exotic animal. It will rid you of the blood but-- but it carries risk. A lot of risk.”

Harry finally peered up, his face wet and blotchy from tears. It was odd seeing Harry Potter cry. Draco always assumed he was a little too well put together, a little too lucky for crying. He thought maybe, if he ever found Harry like this, he’d gloat. “What is it? I’ll try anything,” Harry sniffed and as if he’d gained his own mind back, he relaxed his hold on Draco’s wrists. 

“You could end up dead. Or a squib.” He’d still be off from work, avoiding the press about his affliction. But it might stop his mind from breaking under the aggressive instinct of a dragon. Draco tried to show confidence, it would work. But it might kill him. But it could work. “You’ll need a Healer or someone that knows how they work. I can’t - I don’t have the skillset to deal with this. I can’t do this for you. A potion is fine but this isn't my area.” An apology almost made it into the air. Draco wished he'd learned more about mythical creatures than their innards. All he'd cared about was what use they might hold in relation to brewing. If he knew more maybe, maybe he really could've saved Potter on his own.

"What is it?" In relief, Draco sighed as Harry let go and he resisted the urge to rub at them. Harry seemed to have switched back. For now. 

"A dragon parasite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so happy with this one but it'll do until I'm not as distracted by the end of Lucifer season 4. I am brokzenx~. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I'm part way through the next chapter so another one should be up in a few days!


	14. Leeching

Despite his namesake Draco didn’t know much about dragons. Despite facing off against one, Harry didn’t know much about dragons either. Between them both, their knowledge was underwhelming and would cost Potter his life. So, when Harry suggested Charlie Weasley, dragon-wrangler extraordinaire, Draco agreed, left the man to contact him all while Draco sought out a Healer that wouldn’t blather to the Prophet. Potentially, Draco might kill Harry Potter. Or turn him into a squib. Curing him was a dream, it seemed and Draco was expecting Charlie to renounce the plan as batshit insane and the Healer, going by her alias of Siobhan Goven, would point blank refuse. 

It didn’t stop him thinking about it: Harry Potter dying in his house. From a plan he’d concocted under some pressure, about a parasite Draco only knew in passing. The things were on the banned list for a reason of exotic materials. No breeding, owning, selling or buying the blasted things. Going by the loyalty of the Weasley family, Charlie might sneak one into the country. Harry probably could convince him. 

Draco did wonder, though, if Harry would let Charlie know it was his fault. Guilt-tripping and emotional blackmail didn’t seem Potter’s style. Draco might let it slip, only if Charlie became difficult. 

“You must tell me something. What procedure is it? Who’s the patient?” Siobhan clicked her tongue and Draco ignored her, allowing her into the Malfoy Manor while it was still ruined was a risk. One less than Harry’s life, and Draco supposed all he had agreed to was find him a Healer. Siobhan was a nasty sort of woman, Draco had decided on his first meeting. She cost more than Draco ever thought necessary for simple procedures only to realise nothing ever made it back - not even to St. Mongos. She was a fine example of a Healer then. A private and discreet Healer was worth ten times her weight in galleons. 

Draco shooed her around the Manor, avoiding the sitting room and going round back and through the garden to give the impression everything was fine. 

He did not expect to see a Weasley in his house, in a guestroom. Especially not one that could kill him without a wand. Ron was clearly the runt of the family. Draco motioned for Siobhan to step inside before he sealed them inside a privacy bubble. Unlike Siobhan who eyed Harry in the same wonder most who were grateful over the death of Voldemort, Draco eyed the thatched basket that sat on the chair, straps of bound leather and buckles keeping it closed. 

“I really don’t think this is good idea.” Charlie only gave them a quick look before he continued. “This could kill you Harry. Please.”

“Harry Potter, I’m Siobhan Goven. I’ll assume you’re the one I’ve to, as Mr. Malfoy put it, ‘keep alive’, despite looking quite alive right now.” Siobhan disregarded the hulking Charlie, who took centre stage of the room. “You won’t die, not while I’m here.” Her arrogance was more of a relief.

“I’m not willing to bet his life on that.” Charlie just settled into the Protective Older Brother archetype so easily. Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed at the posturing. This wasn’t up for Draco or Charlie to bicker and waste time. 

“You did when you decided to feed him dragonblood over the course of three years.” Harry scowled and lowered his head as Charlie’s gusto was knocked out of him. Glad that Charlie wasn’t keen to deny. Harry tried his best to send Draco a guilt-trip all his own, but that didn't work either. He wasn’t going to appease Charlie Weasley The Average Brewer (who knew nothing, really, really important). “Unless anyone has another suggestion, on how to remove the magic that’s innate to the dragonblood?”

“I admit, I’m not sure what kind of procedure I’m being asked. Something to do with this,” Siobhan said and sat next to the basket. Whatever was inside made a curdling snarl, a gnashing and snapping sound of teeth. The basket held and Siobhan didn’t seem too alarmed. Potter eyed it, and Draco didn’t say anything on his own urge to have his wand in hand. 

“We should talk, probably, then.” Charlie scuffed at his feet and offered his hand to Siobhan, “I’m Charlie, we should hurry. We don’t want this little bugger being too hungry.”

Draco let the two experts in their field talk about - whatever hypovolemic shock was - and - whatever ‘teeth ganglions’ were - and checked to see if Harry really was deciding this out of logic. Or, as he suspected, panic and fear this was the last and only resort. Harry didn’t fidget, wring his hands or do much other than sigh and sigh and sigh. So, Draco held back, stood at the wall beside Harry’s chair and waited. 

“Charlie thinks I’ll die.”

“You might. You probably shouldn’t do this,” Draco said, knowing well how words not spoken were much worse when the opportunity had already risen and left. “I don’t think I could put a spin on having a dead Harry Potter in my house.” 

If Draco hadn’t spent years with Pansy and Blaise and their micro-expressions he might have missed the twitch in his jaw. “Right.” 

Charlie and Siobhan talked and talked and the longer they did the more anxious Draco came. What if this was the last chance to talk Potter out of this? What was he thinking, suggesting this? When Siobhan started to wave her wand, pointed at what appeared a lipstick holder, it bulked in size. Bigger it grew until, Siobhan was pulling out full potions and settling them aside.

“You can pick a sedative that will make this less painful but know that moving around could cause more damage, or a paralysis potion that will render you safe but you’ll feel everything.”

“Can’t he just take both?” Seemed a little tightfisted to only offer one. Draco scowled at her and couldn’t think of why this ever sounded like a plausible idea. 

“Unless he’d like a heart attack, he’ll get one.” Siobhan offered the two up, one yellow and sparkling the other a soft lilac. Harry didn’t say anything and Draco had a moment, where he thought maybe now, maybe now Potter was going to say this was in fact madness. Sheer madness, and how could Draco even think this would work. 

“What would make it easier on you guys?”

No. No.

No. Not happening, not in his house. None of that bullshit. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you even seen the-- you’re talking the pain potion, Potter.” A dragon parasite wasn’t a simple leech, purple and black and happy to fall away once full. 

“What does it look like, then?” Harry argued back and Draco wanted to abandon this. Was Potter really going to let Charlie release some unknown creature on him? Without seeing it? Without seeing the teeth? Oh, Merlin. How had Potter lived this long?

“I’d agree with him, mate. The thing will be biting into--”

“--The radial artery, as low down in your arm as we can manage it. I’ll be adding a tourniquet to make sure you don’t bleed out. You’ll have to be awake to take any Blood-Replenishing Potions, any other questions?”

“How much is this going to hurt?” Harry wiped his hands on his robes and gave the basket another glance. Despite the two experts neither made a move to answer or fill Harry in. Too painful, Draco summarised. Damn all of this. Charlie received the full force of a Malfoy glare and for once, a Weasley looked away from under its weight. Him being guilty wouldn’t help Potter any.

“Not gonna lie, Harry. These things, they burrow under scales - dragon scales. Their teeth alone can cut chunks out of people.” Charlie might have caught the panic that shot over Harry’s face, the exasperated huff from Siobhan and Draco wasn’t sure why - but he really needed to sit down. The pictures were more than enough for him, he didn’t need to think about it taking literal pieces out of people. “Not that, that will happen! I’m going to be holding onto it, it won’t do that. But it will want to latch on and it does that with its teeth.”

“Okay.” Harry said, shoulders relaxing and Draco didn’t want to believe: this might be Charlie’s fault on Potter’s magic but this, this right here was Draco’s. He’d suggested, put this ridiculous idea into Potter’s head. 

“Okay, he says, right. I’ll leave you two to it.” Draco was no good to anyone here. He’d wait with Lotty, watch the tree die and hope the same fate didn’t come for Potter. How long would this take? How long did Charlie think the leech had before, as he claimed, ‘got too hungry.’

“You’ll have to keep him still, Mr. Malfoy.”

“This little guy isn’t going to like being near hexes and charms as it is. Best not rile him, yeah?” Charlie scooped up the basket and inside made a growl and scream before settling. Draco gulped, well. Okay. He just couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to see it.

“I won’t run away or move, Charlie.” Harry interrupted the two unblinking stares from Charlie and Siobhan. “It’s fine.” A dismissal, that’s exactly what it was, as Harry looked away. Exactly what Draco wanted. And now, he wondered. Was he really this pathetic? He couldn’t handle teeth and blood despite Potter being the one the blighter was going to munch on? It burned. It was embarrassing. He stood by the wall and watched as Siobhan gestured Harry to sit back and she waved her wand and the table sided up to it. 

Charlie opened the basket then. A ball of teeth and sand scale skin. Charlie shifted it in his hands, grabbing its long tail and wrapping it around one arm - covered in specialised leather. Now, Draco was sure he didn’t show his disgust over the beast. The end, which held teeth a few inches long, like blades which bent in one swirling direction. Its back was hard, giving the ruse of a dragon scale. 

Draco looked to Harry. He didn’t even flinch.

Merlin, did Potter ever--

“I just have to make sure he doesn’t move his arm, right?” Draco relented and moved closer, peering over the chair. He wasn’t sure how either experts were going to stop those teeth going right through Harry’s arm. Trusting people was somewhat in short supply for him. Harry laid his arm on the table, pointing off to the side - Siobhan adjusted the table height until it was perfectly level. She waved her wand and a strip of magic circled around Harry’s elbow just behind it, the table stretched where he couldn’t move back or to the side. Now Harry’s arm was caged inside three walls of wood. One last tap against the table and a bolt, made of the same wood, wedged itself over the joint. His only movement was side to side, if he were to violently try to use his hand. 

“Now, this little guy only likes dragons. He’s not interested in us. We’ve not got such tasty magic.”

“So, he might not bite.” Siobhan sounded a little too disappointed by that.

“He’ll bite.” If the leeches’ reaction to being picked up was placid, then the nearer it came to Harry, the more it wriggled and snapped those teeth. Charlie didn’t hesitate but Draco was sure he did. All Harry did was keep looking at it. Urgh, stop looking at it. It only made it worse. Look away.

“Right, Mr. Malfoy please hold here and here. Sir Harry Potter please take the pain relief now.” She smiled, but Draco found it fake and rehearsed. She might not have done this before, but Draco wondered if she was nervous too. Harry just numbly nodded, and drank it within half-a-dozen gulps. All the while, Draco was shown by Siobhan where to keep Harry’s arm down.

It would seem, and Draco really was going to be violently sick or close to it - that it would be best down on the forearm of Harry’s non-wand hand. How caring. How Draco wanted to veto this idea. He kept repeating that this would be his fault if it went wrong. 

All he needed to do was hold down Harry’s wrist. Potter just had to stay still. 

“I’m going to test if the potion worked,” Siobhan said as she poked Harry with a pin, blood dripping over his arm. He didn’t so much a twitch and Draco wasn’t sure how that made this any easier for any of them. 

“Right. We all ready?” Charlie took such a loud audible breath, Draco hoped he’d say he was the one who couldn't do this. Draco didn’t even pretend he cared if Charlie or Siobhan was, he just stared at Harry, who nodded. Not talking, not talking, not talking. Potter really, really freaked him out when he wasn’t all -- Harry Potter. His eyes were glassy, not alert. 

It was weird. 

Siobhan stood at the ready at the end of the table where Harry’s hand lay palm-up, potion and wand and ready to act. Charlie was to the left and Draco the opposite side and eager to look anywhere other than that disgusting creature, he ended up looking at Harry’s arm. Right. Holding Harry’s arm down like this as a parasite to one of the most deadly creatures made its way closer. They were all ready. Right? He tightened his hold before the scale leech even came into contact. Oh, he wasn’t sure he could do this. Was Potter really going to die now? Luck running out in Malfoy Manor, that was tragic. 

“If you tell us to stop we will, Harry.” Charlie said what Draco dreaded. 

Could this be couldn’t as torture? It was, wasn’t it?

“No.” Harry shook his head, but too exaggerated that Potter might be drunk. “Just get it done.”

“We all heard that, didn’t we?” Siobhan said and with less personal investment, “We’ll all continue, no matter what. We all agree, don’t we?” No one agreed with their voices, Draco just nodded, the same dumb and out of it way Potter did. 

Okay. Okay. Harry’s head lulled to the side and Draco ignored the voice in his head that said this was wrong. The leech made a squeal as if a hurt pig had entered the room. But Draco saw the way it stilled as it hovered over Harry arm. Then it started to ungulate and the teeth started to click.

And then Harry flinched - Draco forced his arm as still as possible - the teeth went in - Harry cried out to stop - he was trying to move, but couldn’t, drunk, yet not numb enough - and the teeth dug in like hoes in a field, twisted and raising flesh like it was nothing - Harry was telling them to stop. And Draco wanted to stop. But he didn’t. He held onto his wrist, stronger, since Harry was now desperate - the leech purred and the teeth were nothing on the sucker that latched on and - Draco looked away. He couldn’t see this, he couldn’t hear Harry sobbing in the chair. 

Harry was sobbing in the chair, his other arm limply trying to flail to stop but the potion made that impossible. And Draco could feel how warm Harry’s blood was. How his whole arm trembled and saw the way his fingers spasmed and tried to claw the air. His skin was slippery, and it was Siobhan that wiped away the blood with a grim face. Charlie wasn’t weeping but it was a near thing; these people were family, weren’t they?

Draco could never do this. Never. And here he sat, hunched over, holding him still while that, that thing gulped down the magic. 

“Harry, you need to take this potion.” Siobhan had the worse job. Draco didn’t watch as Potter tried to refuse the potion in her hands, but she lacked any empathy over what was necessary and all but forced it down. He choked, panic maybe, pain overbearing, but some ran down his chin and throat and left him coughing. He didn’t want to see that. He shouldn’t have looked. He shouldn’t have. 

Draco knew he was no good. Knew he panicked easily. But maybe, maybe it was Voldemort and the War that shifted that little part of Draco’s brain to that point. A point where Draco had, had enough and started think, think, think. 

And then, Draco looked over at Harry to see if he had calmed down because he wasn’t fighting as much as he had. Draco stilled, his heart stopped and his lungs took no air and everything froze.

No.

That wasn’t right. 

This wasn’t right.

Harry was crying. 

He’d seen Harry cry not two hours before. And now, he wasn’t even blinking away the tears, they were just running down his face. And it clicked and Draco eased off on Harry’s arm. She didn’t. But it fit. Why else Draco was having no issue with the flinching arm despite slippery with sweat and blood?

“Siobhan.” Draco grit his own teeth, “What potion did you hand him?” She froze and Charlie looked as angry as Draco felt. 

“It’s easier this way,” she whispered and Draco made a point to leave this to Potter when he recovered. Because he might have her blood on his hands next. Unless Charlie got there first. 

“We’ll talk after Harry’s better. Sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.” Charlie chanted and Draco went to turn Harry’s head, away from the violent and gruesome scene of the bloody leech and his mangled arm and close his eyes. Blink rate should go up under times of stress and pain. Now it explained why he hadn’t shut them. Charlie pulled it away only after Siobhan cut away a tiny part of flesh that was stuck in the leeches’ teeth.

“We should continue, he said so.” Siobhan didn’t lift her head as Charlie wrangled the parasite into its makeshift home. Buckling it and swearing under his breath.

“Unless you want to see the inside of my family Mausoleum, I suggest you stop talking Ms Goven. Heal him.” She didn’t move. “Now.” Whatever argument went on in her head, she relented and set about smoothing the mishmash of skin and muscle. Draco oversaw her every step. He wouldn’t call on her again. 

“He’ll be fine. I promise you.”

“He better be. Where did you find her, Malfoy?” Charlie had the basket over his shoulder and now, it was his fault. 

Draco snarled back at the accusation, “Should I suspect every Healer to be incapable? Or is it just because I picked one?”

“Similar likes like, Malfoy.” Not many of the Weasleys were as forgiving as the others.

“Just get the damned monster back to wherever it belongs. And you,” he lost his patience then, watching her pause in her actions as if Potter wasn’t still bleeding, “If you kill him, it’s not just his blood that’ll be on my hands.”

“He’s fine.” Siobhan was stitching and weaving skin together and Draco wanted everyone to leave, for this idea to never have entered his consciousness. He was close to ordering Charlie out but he hovered all the same. She had done her job. His arm wouldn’t scar, most likely. Hopefully. Draco did not want Potter to be reminded of this every time he looked down. It was Hermione all over again. 

“I have to get this back before anyone notices, Malfoy if I hear that Harry doesn’t--” Draco scoffed at it all, what could he possibly do, “I mean it. I’ll release a clutch of dragon eggs here and Malfoy’s are history. As they should be.”

Draco didn’t rebel against that one. 

Charlie left, begrudgingly and hesitant but leave he did and Draco told her another, “I didn’t think a Healer would be the one to torture the Boy Wonder.” 

“I know you both, maybe the three of you think I was being cruel for cruelty sake.” Siobhan wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Her fingers were covered in blood too. “You need his magic - the dragon’s magic to be eaten, right? Having him feel nothing wouldn’t make the dragonblood rise. It would take longer if I numbed him, dangerously long. This was safer, I mean it. You can’t just constantly add Blood-Replenishing Potion upon Blood-Replenishing Potion. You know potions, you know that.”

“You lied. You might as well be dead to me. Lotty!” The elf appeared, but her happiness was flattened as she saw Harry Potter on a chair, blood soaked over the table, carpet and himself. “Put him to bed and you--” He turned back to Siobhan, “I imagine Potter will want to talk with you when he’s up and about. Stay put, unless my earlier threats didn’t make it through that thick head of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D= I'm sorry Harry, shhh.... shh....
> 
> Thanks for reading? (This emotional torture?)
> 
> Cheers for all the support and interest again. I don't tend to look at the numbers but yeah, I'm surprised every time I do. <3


	15. From Bad to Worse

Siobhan marched behind him. She wouldn’t stop talking as Harry was taken to another guest room - a bedroom, where Lotty defended him with the threat of elf magic if Miss Goven tried anything else untoward. Draco was certain Lotty hadn’t a clue as to why he was furious with the Healer but reacted only out of loyalty.

“Mr. Malfoy, you asked me to keep him alive,” Siobhan said as she moved towards the bed, to re-adjust the covers over Potter. Lotty, in petty defiance pulled the cover the opposite way. “He’s alive. The painless route would have killed him.” Draco didn’t appreciate her tone. For one, Harry was too pale, less sickly and more deathly. Maybe it was how Harry curled up, as if in pain even in sleep which made the bed look like a beast devouring him. A constant stream of sounds, half-gurgled words out lips that were as white as his face. 

“Then why give a choice and undermine it?” Draco asked from the door, he was too helpless here. Too much was going wrong. The wards were down, Draco was defenceless. Anyone who wanted to kill Harry Potter wouldn’t need much to do it. He did not think Siobhan meant Harry any harm, far from it. Her conduct was the issue. What would she do, if Harry did die? Who would want that news to also supply their name? She might confuse who was her employer. Send word to the papers that Harry died under Malfoy care, not hers.

“You made a choice, Harry wanted the one that made things easier.” She cast the same medicinal spell, a wave of red raising and falling in the air. 

Draco shut the door behind him.. “Are you kidding me?” Draco knew his yelling might cause Lotty to throw Siobhan out. He didn’t care. He just couldn’t believe yet another one - someone who hadn’t even spoken to Potter thought that, this, this was brave. Or so ‘Harry Potter’. He pointed to the dying man, “Because he’s a self-sacrificing Gryffindor that has the self-preservation skills of a moth. Making things easier is just code for him to act like a bloody lunatic--”

Siobhan started to sneer back, tight kept hair finally showing some fuzzy, stray strands, “--I think, you would want the pain relief and you can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t. I’m good at my job Mr. Malfoy. He wanted to make things easier, faster. It was you who wanted him to drink the pain relief.”

No, no, no. Draco wasn’t having this. “If this wasn’t Harry Potter, would you have done this?”

She turned away from him, touched at Harry’s forehead and Draco seethed at the show of affection over that scar. “But it is Harry Potter. He defeated Voldemort. He can manage this much.”

Disgust twisted into a morose sympathy. Potter complained once, how he hated the attention his name brought. How he just wanted to be normal - fat chance of that happening - and Draco always assumed it a humblebrag of extremes. ‘I’m too well loved, too well known throughout the land! Isn’t it such a difficult life, to be fawned over?’ But as Siobhan fidgeted again, smoothing the lines on the covers Draco saw what she was too. A fan, someone who wouldn’t see Potter as the dying man in a bed, helpless, but as a hero who was suffering and would beat it. 

“How stable is he?”

“The fever, I’ll watch for now. But he just needs rest, and food when he wakes,” she said and that’s when Draco had had enough, enough of this swanning around and acting like she knew all. Like she expected Harry to wake and thank her for the pain, for the lies. She was only here for necessity. Right now, she was cooing over Potter with an affection reserved for close friends, not a Healer and patient.

Her presence was necessary. Draco wouldn’t chance it, not on Potter’s life. 

A reading chair sat by the wide fireplace - once connected to the Floo network but now lacked even a chimney to be used as anything but decoration, was where Draco sat. Then he saw the blood - Harry’s blood soaked his shaking hands. Slowly, he turned them over, examining how the creases in his hands were highlighted and the pits of his fingernails were clotted red. A lump from deep within his gut rose, slow and burning to the back of his throat and Draco stop breathing to stop the urge to vomit. Literally, Potter’s blood, on his hands. A dying Potter no more than a few meters ahead of him. Fuck.

Closing his eyes, he refused to devolve into hysteria. His wand, once again, was unsettlingly heavy in his hands - he remembered he never received his old wand back and Draco had been grateful. A wand where he was using magic he never wanted to use: the wand might have chosen him long ago but Draco wanted nothing to do with it. Bleak and depressing, the blood seemed too dry and coagulated to form on the polished wand.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” he whispered and the blood vanished. His hands didn’t stop shaking and he clenched them tight. Nerves took over, a frantic mind trying to piece together what was the best, most efficient way to use his time. He must stay here, to keep an eye on Harry and Siobhan. If Moran saw this defenceless Manor, he’d attack in an instant, wouldn’t he? Draco bit his lip as hard as he ran through every which way he could even fathom what could and would happen. 

The Wizengot vote was a month away, not important. Siobhan could propel or plummet her own reputation by healing Harry and in doing so could do the same with the Malfoy name. Not an immediate issue so long as Harry lived. And if Harry lived… he would still require a sleeping aid. One which held nothing addictive or cumulative magic. Moran didn’t matter just yet, his attempt at Draco’s life was a curious case of planning but held no real ambition. Draco was at the Ministry every month like clockwork and nothing, no appearance. If Moran was not worried over killing in a public place, why not wait at the Floos or the lobby? Moran was not the problem right now. So, if he didn’t need to worry over Moran then the wards could wait too. 

What could he do?

Books.

He needed all the books on Sleeping Draughts, from Dreamless Sleep to Draught of Living Death. Calling on Lotty, she appeared on the second call, carrying another tray this time lacking in tea but holding clean linen, and Draco explained what he required. She would stay here, see to Siobhan and keep Harry Potter safe. She was not elated or apprehensive of this task but determined and cast a sour expression at the sight of Siobhan. Draco redirected his attention to the still murmuring Potter. No change. Rapid movement behind Harry’s eyelids told of dreams. Or nightmares. Or a best forgotten memory. 

Draco brought a stack of books into the room, not sure where to go even in his own home. 

Reading throughout the night was tough. What was worse was the occasional bough of Siobhan rushing around, while Harry made noises that did sound like a dying man. And Draco just sat there. Helpless and not daring to ask the question: what’s happening? So, he just watched, from the sidelines as Harry coughed and spluttered, veins popping out of his neck and temples. Only once did Draco try to read through one of these episodes. Only once did he grimace and flinch at the sounds that grated on his self-control. Don’t look. He didn’t need to look. Don’t look. Read. Maybe Potter was alive and just coughing louder to disrupt his reading.

“How is he doing?” Draco asked at two in the morning, aching shoulders and neck from hunching over book and tome. Siobhan didn’t answer and Draco refused to look up to acknowledge his own concern. It was a passing comment, nothing more.

“He’s okay, so far.”

“And his magic?” Draco skipped forward a chapter, he hated these old books. Too many ramblings from a wizard that wanted to talk herbology than potion characteristics. 

“He’ll be first to know that one.”

What should he say to that? What would happen to a squib Harry Potter? Was he to blame for this? This should never have happened, Draco shouldn’t have allowed this. Harry would be so pissed, maybe it would be best for him to lack the same magical prowess. 

The early morning turned into a late lunch and then, the night came again. 

And as Draco fretted over ingredients of a soon to be potion, Siobhan stretched and yawned. “You must be tired, Mr. Malfoy. Your friend will be fine, I won’t leave my station until he is out of the woods, so to speak.”

“We are not friends,” Draco said it on auto-pilot because for a while, that’s all he said, all Harry said if either of them were seen having a civil conversation and someone pointed it out. No one could befriend Harry Potter after the War. No one. Not even the overt and fresh faces of the Aurors. Draco was not one who misjudged civility with friendship. 

“You hire a private Healer and help break International Mythical Creature laws for fun?”

“Let’s go with that, it’s more interesting than the truth.” The truth being Draco owed his freedom to someone he’d resented for years. Jealous of everything and spiteful of even more: Harry’s friends were equals, not bumbling lackeys, he received admiration as soon as he entered rooms, he was given special treatment because of who he was, not who his parents were. Draco had a name but it was never uttered in the same way, and would never be, ever. 

His life would’ve ended in those stocks, under the gaze of a war-torn and anxious ministry. Whatever reason - Draco was only certain he could never understand why Harry did it - he was mad - Draco and Harry didn’t see each other for many years later. Not all coincidental, Draco was good at avoiding people. Harry was clearly wanting to leave the past in the past and Draco left him be, not wishing to make Potter regret the mercy he’d shown. 

“Then may I suggest leaving the chair, Mr. Malfoy. It won’t be doing you any favours.”

Draco didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what he would call Harry Potter. He suspected Draco too quick of malice for the term friend to mean anything. That always brought the same question back: was Draco really just a bad guy? What if he was pretending at being this, this helpful Malfoy? Leaning back in the chair, Draco sighed loud and hard. How did anyone really know if they were a good person? Harry admitted to wanting to hurt him. Did that make him less good? What if Draco admitted to enjoying wrangling and pushing people to do his bidding when he won over them with blackmail and information not yet public. Draco Malfoy wasn’t a nice person but was he a good one? No. He was neither. And Harry was both. 

At some point, Draco slept, for how long he wasn’t sure. When he awoke, it was with a jolt - the book he last read lay haphazardly on the ground. Harry grumbled under his breath. His face was flushed now, and if Draco had not ordered Lotty to stay beside Siobhan, both now absent from the room, he would have thought Lotty had failed to wring the damp cloth and soaked the pillow. 

“Siobhan, get your arse back here!” Whether it was Lotty or Siobhan who heard him first, they both apparated into the bedroom and got to work and Draco couldn’t handle this. Not when Harry started to vomit. Watching Potter die? Not a bloody chance.

Draco fled to his laboratory and set up eight cauldrons. Nothing interrupted him, not even Lotty and her usual questions of tea or a light meal. No news was best, Draco set aside several figs of lavender before opting to chop them in different ways. He may as well try a little of everything. Ignore the idea Potter would die. Ignore the possibility he was a squib because that still left him needing a potion.

Not as if Harry would accept a potion made by the man that nearly killed him. But that was the beauty of it: a recipe, that’s all Draco needed. Hand it over to some other brewer, another apothecary who would make sure Harry Potter was well while lining their own pockets. 

Eight cauldrons, all fourteen inches in diameter were set up an hour apart in prep time letting Draco have time to dally in the next one’s composition. There were cauldrons on the floor, up on the transfigured tables, next to his feet boiling away. The first was a repeat of the previous failed potion. Another was near identical but the paste was more watery and the lavender upped in dose. From there, the ingredients changed. Not trusting his tired brain, a weakness which would catch, Draco wrote down the recipes as he went. Eight cauldrons, eight recipes and even with this, Draco found his mind wandering. For some of them, Draco’s hands shook and he was forced to stop and stare at them. He could still feel the blood, the warmth.

Sleeping wasn’t allowed until Siobhan had a positive thing to say about Potter’s prognosis. Not as if Draco didn’t think of resting but the nap was enough to push through this brain fog. 

How long did Draco strain the bluster eel’s guts or how long did he spend on finely cutting ingredients the same size, weight and shape. Too long, said his neck and shoulders, his back and wrists. Not long enough, said himself. Potter might very well be fighting for his life, his magic. A few nights of no rest paled in comparison. 

“You better not die.” Draco doodled on the corner of number seven’s recipe. “Luna will kill me.” The doodle was given a violent scrub through before Draco set about the batch of potions. Each were boiling, some the same purple tint others turning more grey and number three was bright pink. Smelling the air stung his lungs, his eyes were as if mint was sprayed into them and it had nothing to do with Lotty reappearing, her simple blouse was damp around her shoulder, blood splattered near her face and Draco didn’t let her speak. 

“Unless there’s something I can do to help, or Potter’s okay, don’t tell me.” Lotty wrung her hands together and left without another word. 

Number Four and Number Five boiled and turned a murky grey, only to pop and spark before Draco killed the flame and the failure had him kick them away, “Fuck!” And he lost the enthusiasm, the very hope Harry was alive, and he crouched on the floor, next to Number Seven and he admitted it. This was too much. This was scary, this wasn’t fair, this wasn’t anything Draco prepared for - Harry dying because of his advice? 

Harry was going to die and it was all his fault. How was he going to explain that to Scorpius and Albus? Luna? Hermione? Anyone?

“Fuck,” Draco said as he saw his weary reflection in the still water of Number Eight. He’d ruined his own life and taken Harry’s all in one fell swoop. What was the point in making potions for a dead man? Nothing anyone said would make this okay. A pop was heard behind him and he tensed, as Pansy used to call it, put up the walls. By the time Voldemort was in his house, Draco understood what she meant. He saw it, on his own face with an overlay of gaudy yellow as he bottled it all up and turned to address -- Lotty. He wasn’t sure how long this peace, these high defences and mazes of the mind would hold. 

“Mr. Harry Potter needs Master Draco Malfoy’s help.”

He put all the potions on stasis, not eager to return to any of them. 

Harry was awake, glasses off, and redder than a Weasley. 

“An infection, the fever could kill him. I need you to--” Siobhan wobbled on her feet, only to hold onto one of the bed posts to keep herself standing, “--he needs more magic to heal. I can’t do any more.” She was breathless, tired and fighting to stay conscious, “I’m sorry, but it’s like trying to fill a well. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“That sounds about right.” If the situation not so dire his collected response would’ve made him preen in superiority. Right now, he nodded and stepped over to Harry. Harry who fought to keep his eyes open every second. Four casting trees worth of magic Harry might have lost. A tragedy indeed if true. As Draco tried to keep the magic over the palm of his hand - to focus on one point and only one was harder than it sounded - he refused to touch Harry’s arm but hovered over it. Speaking of which wasn’t scarred from the scale leech. An insignificant mercy.

Draco’s magic was pulled, hard and sudden as if he was being forcibly apparated. The urge to push and pull away never rescinded no matter how much or how long magic was fed. What was clear, even to Siobhan, Draco’s magic wouldn’t satisfy. Only two people Draco could count on not to use this against him or Potter. Begrudging he pulled his hand away, knowing his magic was like Siobhan’s, already too frayed and used throughout to help. Between Lotty, Siobhan and Draco, Harry Potter would die. They needed more help.

“Lotty, bring the Minster and her husband here. Tell them Harry needs their help. Urgently.” Draco spoke again once Lotty left and Siobhan collapsed into the reading chair, “Only tell them what they need to know. Complicating matters doesn’t help any of us.”

Five minutes - the longest, slowest five minutes to ever exist in time and space. Five minutes of hearing the wheezing laboured breaths and Harry failing to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds each time. 

“Harry!” Weasley stood by the door as Hermione rushed in and Draco ignored Ron’s reluctance on stepping nearer. He hadn’t seen Ron and Harry much in the same room, not since Ron dragged off Moran from the Emporium. Whatever drama held could wait until Harry was able to breathe without sounding as if it would be his last. 

“Bloody hell.” 

Magically drained, Draco lent against the wall and Siobhan took charge. Explaining and avoiding all at the same time, Hermione was the first - with no hesitation - to clasp her hands around Harry’s wrist and Draco winced. That was torn up and spat back out by the bloody monster. Now, in his own house he was intruding, as Hermione tried her best to speak in a wholly positive and uplifting manner. 

Harry squinted as Weasley went to stand by his wife, “Ron?” Truly was it so strange to see Ron, friends since first year, appear at his bedside? Charlie had dropped his day and came over at the mere suggestion he could help Harry. Now, Ron was being asked out right and he still hadn’t started siphoning off his magic. 

“Hey,” Ron said, awkwardly standing a few paces away from the bed. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll sort you out -- be good as new.”

“Ronald, now isn’t the time,” Hermione snapped and grabbed Ron’s hand and clasped it between hers and Harry’s. Draco left, not wishing to see anyone else as uncomfortable over the mess he made. 

Draco went to his own bedroom, collapsed onto the bed backwards, feet still on the ground, and stared up at the ceiling. A strange thought crossed his mind: Harry Potter might be dead when he wakes. Sleep didn’t come for him but the still darkness in the room was a small relief. Scorpius would hate him. Absolutely hate him if Harry died. Because Albus would. 

Harry needed more magic to fight off whatever the leech had left inside. Draco only knew of one place that could potentially have enough magic if Hermione and Ron failed. Casting Trees said four and it was impossible to hand over more than half a person's magic without force being a factor. A large dose of magic is what Harry needed and the irony wasn’t lot on him. But as Draco’s eyes closed it came to him, he shot up, heart beating fast. He knew what might help.

First, he checked the All-Mother. The only evidence it was there was the leaves that littered the floor and the gaping hole in the roof. She was dead. Good enough. Marching back, renewed at the idea, Draco saw Siobhan was standing outside the room. It was only when he approached did he hear Hermione’s and Ron’s raised voices. 

“I need some of Harry’s blood,” he whispered to Siobhan. “I’ll add him as the Manor’s ward.”

Old wizarding houses protected not just the furniture but those inside it. It was also true of the opposite, that if a house loathed a person then sickness and disease would linger in the house for them especially. She nodded, went inside and the voices quietened. Potter no longer stank of dragonblood and the Manor shouldn’t hate him or see him as a threat. 

Draco would order the bloody house to help if he so had to.

Siobhan returned with a floating blob of blood, “I hope this works. His fever broke but I can’t say we have enough magic between us to stop him from having another spike.” 

Draco left, to the keystone where the wards originated from and he loathed the idea his parents would find this. Albus was allowed through, Scorpius was always happy at that - and the Manor cooed over the praise at doing well. Harry Potter being allowed to apparate inside wasn’t the same as being added to as a ward - as someone to protect. A technicality, for some, but then Harry to the Manor put him squarely ahead of others. If Potter wanted to evict Blaise or Pansy from the house, it would listen. Not so great a plan considering Draco’s secrets but Harry could be removed at a time he wasn’t dying. 

Harry had once said he’d help restore them - a deal proposed by Draco for numerous reasons. Now, they’d return - weaker than what they were, but with a task more important. 

“Malfoy Manor, a new name for you.” The levitated blood ran into the wall, where a series of thick notches ran in numerous directions. It glowed teal and as soon as the blood hit, it vanished and blinked white. The wards returned and magic from centuries returned and Draco was on his knees at the pressure in his head. The windows opened - from what seemed like every room - and a gust of wind blew a storm of crinkling leaves across before dying out as one rested on Draco’s arm.

“What am I supposed to do with this? Just help Potter not die.”

All the windows slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not had much time this week sadly. :E
> 
> Draco's Panicking was my other thought for a chapter name. (And I just noticed that my other chapter was not named? How'd I forget that? Changed now, but weird that was a thing).
> 
> <3 Much love to you all. Thanks for reading.


	16. Unanswered Questions

Draco couldn’t quite understand what the Manor’s response to his order meant. The leaves from the All-Mother were different in all aspects. The one which sat on his sleeve was translucent, purple veins giving the only clue to the size. At his feet another, a simple black spine but dulled at the edges, and layered onto it a leaf which was purple on one side and grey on the other. With the tree gone, it was likely these would fade and shrivel soon too.

What bloody one did it think would help? Draco didn’t know but Siobhan might. He picked up one each of the three types and rushed back to her. As Draco approached, he eyed the door and why Siobhan was still standing outside. She smiled.

“If they have energy to yell, they’ve magic to give,” Siobhan explained with a shrug. 

“Can you do anything with these?” Draco shoving the three leaves into her hands. Siobhan just scrunched up her nose at them as if they were what Draco feared. Useless. “They’re from an All-Mother; can you do anything?” He urged her again and as she picked each up to examine she shook her head.

“Maybe but just one won’t do anything.” Siobhan rotated the spine. “This can be used as a substitute for needle soup. The other two do have the properties for a salve.” She shook her head again and sighed, “I’m sorry, we’d need more than this.”

“Lotty!” Draco yelled and out popped the elf’s head from under the door handle, “Go collect all of these. Take the needles to the kitchen. Make soup. The rest - bring to us.” Lotty heard his urgency and left with a pop. 

“You have access to an All-Mother?” Siobhan’s scepticism was refreshing, if only it meant she really hadn’t seen the giant hole in the Manor. “We’ll need everyone to cooperate… do you have five mortars and pestles? And pure distilled water. We can make a salve from the paste.”

So, that’s what Draco did. He spent the rest of the night listening to the Healer and doing what she thought best. Lotty did not hide her disgust over Siobhan’s presence but she did as she was asked. Ron and Hermione agreed, and they sat in transfigured chairs using a transfigured table and turned leaves to mush all while Siobhan took the end result and fiddled with water and sand and made a clear slime which bubbled from inside.

The Manor bothered him, a pressure at the back of his head that gave him a slew of new worries: where was Scorpius, was he okay? Ignoring those thoughts, not entirely his - prompted by the Manor’s need to keep all of its residents safe and happy. 

“How much do you know about what’s wrong with Harry?” Draco asked both Hermione and Ron as he put another dying leaf into his mortar. Ron snorted and Hermione elbowed him in the side. 

“We know he doesn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Hermione said, reinforcing the word ‘we’ all while Ron kept silent. Draco didn’t need to guess on who Harry might have hurt to turn Ron against Harry even the slightest. Wait. What if-- no, Draco had to ask carefully, give the impression he already knew. Taking a breath he decided the weakest one right now was Hermione. She was still eager to prove Harry was still Harry, unable to hurt anyone.

“Lily was there too, then.” Draco watched both of their faces carefully. Ron’s pestle crashed into the mortar as he got up and left. 

“Ron, Ron - stop. We need to keep--” Hermione reached out to try and grab at his arm, but he squatted it away before Hermione had any real grip.

“Bathroom break,” came Ron’s reply from somewhere outside the room. 

Hermione was near tears and Draco let her be for a moment to compose herself. She spoke up after a minute of sniffing and beating the leaves into a fine paste. “He told you what happened?”

Draco glanced over to Siobhan, then to the unconscious Harry. He could lie. It wouldn’t be found out until much later. This might backfire. A good liar wasn’t one who lied always or one who told tall tales in the illusion of covering up more. A good liar told the truth just as much. Reasoning Hermione would shut herself off and give Draco nothing at the hint of a lie was more than enough reason to stay truthful.

“No. I figured something was off when Lily avoided Harry when I brought him back home. Well, home to Ginny. I suspect he lives in that hovel.” Ron leaving did provide him with the ability to now talk somewhat openly with Hermione. 

If Harry's magic had hurt Lily and Rose... Draco could see himself wanting to pull Scorpius away from meeting with Potter. Not out of pettiness or cruelty but Scorpius was all Draco had. Draco couldn't take the chance Harry had another episode and accidentally hurt him.

How much did they know, did they know about Charlie? About the dragonblood potions? “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Right. She wouldn’t. Harry already said he hadn’t told her. But telling Hermione one thing and her already knowing already was a different matter. Draco waited a beat before adding, “I don’t mean the infection he has now. I mean, why his magic was on the bend in the first place.” She shook her head and Draco went back to his own clear goop sitting in his mortar. 

Ron and Hermione didn’t know. Ron and Hermione didn’t know. What alternate dimension was he in that Draco Malfoy know more of Harry’s business than the other parts of the Golden Trio. Bloody Potter what was he thinking? Hermione stared at him and Draco paused in his task to meet her eye.

“But you know, don’t you?”

A peculiar feeling bubbled at his chest and Draco pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time to gloat.

“I do.”

She didn’t ask anything else. 

Ron took his sweet time returning. Draco did have to wonder how the Weasley family operated. Did Charlie not talk to Ron as often as Ginny? Was that how siblings worked? As an only child, Draco had nothing to compare the way the Weasleys acted. 

A folded piece of parchment made its way onto the table and Draco recognised it. Checking Siobhan hadn’t turned around yet, Draco slipped the registry form into his nearest robe pocket. They mashed leaf after leaf, for hours in silence. Until Draco tutted loud enough for both Hermione and Siobhan to question him on it.

“If this actually helps him I’ll never hear the end of it.” Draco sighed and hated the fact Harry did have this idea before - and Draco had shot him down citing it as stupid.

“Since when are you two so pally?” Ron spoke up and Hermione scowled but said nothing in his defence. He was pissed, trying to keep his cool in a way unlike a Weasley. Draco wondered if Ron had already decided not only in his involvement but on his guilt too. 

“Harry appeared in my house, destroyed the roof and sitting room and now is dying in a guestroom. At which point do you think I should consider being on friendly terms?”

“He came to you for help and now we’re here.” If Draco was a paranoid person he might think there was a real shitty insinuation made about him somewhere in that snapping reply. 

“I’m not saying a word. Unless Harry dies or recovers and says otherwise.” Draco ignored the glare - from Hermione, even suggesting Harry wouldn’t make it marred all of her warmth towards him. 

The rest of the night was awkward. Ron left earlier than Hermione and it was Siobhan who told them there would be enough paste to make a salve out of the work done. He suspected, at how she worded that - it was simply to push Hermione to go home and rest. Another wave of tiredness and Manor interference made Draco flinch. Being the Lord of the House made it difficult to just relax. Not with a constant niggle everything was wrong and what was he doing to fix it? 

The next day, Draco was taught little but enough on how to soak bandages in a distilled mixture of water and and the gloop so it would evenly distribute along the fabric. “Dressings tend to absorb any moisture, this should hold the salve close enough for him to absorb the magic within them without us needing to change the sheets after every application.” It smelt terribly bitter, burnt and Draco was glad it wasn’t going on his arms. 

She wrapped one on each arm, thick and winding and Draco listened to her as she walked through the steps. If all went well, he’d use them up as fast as possible. “Remove them when they dry, they’re done at that point, and get another. The mixture won't last too long itself, so we need to keep it hydrated and used as soon as possible.” 

Draco retired to the reading chair and Siobhan bid him goodnight while Lotty kept an eye on the Manor and Harry as they both rested. Not that Draco got much sleep, dozing off only to jerk awake, panicked he’d missed some vital sign of Harry struggling and dying. 

The bandages on his arms cracked like dried mud and turned ashen and Draco didn’t want to remove them. He had to, and he did so quickly wanting this nightmare to be over. What was stopping him from just taking Harry to the hospital and leaving the idiot to be cared for by professionals. This wasn’t his job. And Potter had asked for his help anyway. 

Lunch was a meal Draco devoured. Hermione had arrived again, chatting animatedly with Siobhan and Draco ducked out of that conversation. When he returned to Harry, he was grumbling in his sleep. Only as Draco shut the door, Harry blinked awake. 

“Where’s--” Harry croaked, voice nearly gone. Launching into who was where and why, Draco was glad to see even if Potter did look like utter crap, he was awake. 

Shaking his head, Harry huffed to turn onto his side, felt around the table which was raised just a little too high for where he lay to really see what was on it. “My glasses.”

Oh.

Busying himself, Draco ignored the self-conscious flutter over his answer as he cleared the table. A clatter made him look up, Harry’s specs sat on the floor with Harry still searching blind. Any other wizard would have sought their wands first, or knowing they could cast wandless just summoned the blasted things. Was his magic okay or not? Draco sat the stack of used mortars down, went over and handed him his glasses. It was only now, he saw Harry and his bloodshot eyes. 

Harry squinted and sank back into the bed. For a moment, Harry closed his eyes again and Draco though he might fall asleep before he asked, “How long?” His throat sounded shredded, and Draco had the urge to clear his own throat.

“This is your third day here.” Draco didn’t want to touch the subject Harry might have lost his magic, completely, forever. “I’ll fetch Goven, since you’re up. Lotty will fix you breakfast.”

“I’ll come down in a while.” Draco scoffed at the bravado, as if Harry could walk right now. The idea Potter was trying to fake it right now only said Draco wasn’t trusted. 

“Unless you want Lotty to burst into tears, you’ll have it served in bed, you pillock.” Harry erupted into a wheezing cough before Draco could say anything else. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. Draco rubbed at his eyes and wished he could leave the house and deny any existence of what was going on here. “This was the worst idea ever.”

“I’m fine.” Harry sounded far from it and Draco wasn’t equipped with much bedside manner. Not with the Manor babying him - a series of images of warm beds flickered in his head. No. Not yet. 

“Lotty! Potter’s awake!” He wasn’t dealing with Harry if he was still near death. Meanwhile Harry surveyed the room and, either he realised he was in a completely different room or he was more curious on the table of bitter smelling spills.

“What’s this?” Harry prodded his arm, and the wraps were moist and yellowing at the edges - soaked in a concoction of All-Mother leaves. Even if Harry was ill, Draco was sure he’d have picked at the bandage just to be awkward. The wrap began to loosen and Draco lost his temper. 

“Don’t pick at it.” They were all trying here, Harry didn’t need to examine every little thing. Draco tugged the material back over tight and then he remembered how Harry’s blood, warm blood, was against his hands and the coating was too close and Draco made a noise and flinched at the clarity of that one thought.

A subtle action it was not, not with how Draco pulled his hands back and didn’t dare look at the arm he’d forced down and let a creature eat. 

Harry started and Draco wanted to apparate right there, “You--” And he was interrupted as Lotty appeared, carrying a bowl of soup. It didn’t look appetising with its purple and grey colouring. 

“Enough. Just take your soup.” Draco retreated back to the dresser. Harry thanked Lotty, who was starstruck at the compliment of her cooking. Harry took a few mouthfuls - and Draco was glad he hadn’t exploded, turned blue or dropped dead right there.

“Could we not tell Hermione and Ron everything else? I don’t need the extra pity.” Still looking at the soup, he gave it a few more stirs. Good. He wasn’t going to bring - that - up. 

“Your life is hardly pitied, envied by some I’d imagine.”

“I slept in a cupboard under the stairs for years before I went to Hogwarts,” Harry said and waited on an answer. Draco shifted uncomfortably at that. To have a response, Draco needed to know what Harry was even talking about. The words on their own made sense but together Draco did not understand. Muggles might have bedroom under the stairs. But a bedroom under a staircase? How grand a staircase must be to fit a whole bedroom beneath it. Was it smaller than normal - than these rooms, in Draco’ home - was that what was pitiable about it? But Harry had said cupboard, not bedroom. But where else would someone sleep? Hermione once said her own home was barely large enough to swing a cat in - a turn of phrase that had Draco concerned. This was yet another glimpse into Muggle life.

“Is that another Muggle euphemism?” 

Harry erupted into laughter, his coughing proclaiming how unwell he still was, and Draco waited for this one to be explained. Even by this reaction Draco was unsure. Was this a joke?

“Its meaning is literal. Very, very literal.” Harry was smiling, which was the oddest thing about it. As Harry wiped at the corner of his eyes as he continued, sporadically to chuckle. All while Draco blinked once then twice and - he didn’t think he was understanding this right. Harry slept in a cupboard under the stairs. The more Draco tried to piece this together the more he rebelled against the very idea. Harry Potter. Slept in a cupboard? What?

“I always thought we had similar upbringings.”

An only child, easily bored and wanting friends. The house elves were the help - they were not good enough to spend time on - Goyle and Crabbe were family connections, not equal either. No one was ever equal because Malfoy touted they were the best. Only one person ever received any praise from his father: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Draco had never considered Harry would ever refuse his friendship, never mind take Weasley over him. It was wrong. Back then, Harry was the worst, an equal that refuted everything his father ever said to be true.

“What’d you mean?” If Harry hadn’t killed the good humour on his face, maybe Draco would have explained how he was terribly bored and lonely as a child. But it was the bite in those words that made Draco realise he’d assumed again, incorrect and no way to take it back. Draco was never unhappy, or wanted for anything else. He pointed and it was his, he broke it and it was replaced without a word. Harry was kept under the stairs like an unused mop.

They weren’t similar at all.

“Forget it.”

“Tell me.”

“I was wrong. There, happy?” Draco snapped. Harry wasn’t but he returned to eating the soup Lotty had served. Etiquette was not Harry’s strong suit and he scraped and hit the bowl with his spoon too often, too loudly and Draco wished he’d kept the conversation going. 

“Before Hogwarts, what’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?” The nonchalant tone grated. 

“We can do without the pity party.” Draco didn’t want to dig up old wounds. Not now, not with Hermione desperate to get in here and see if Harry was breathing. 

“So you are pitying me.” As if a reward for sussing that out, Harry took another mouthful and Draco urge to leave dwindled. He regarded Harry again not sure how to respond. Harry wasn’t entirely self-absorbed or naive to the world. He was able to, in some way push conversation to where he wanted them to go. Aurors must have some form of interviewing or interrogation lessons. 

“I was seven, maybe six.” That was easy enough. No harm came from those facts. No information, none that mattered. Harry didn’t take even half a second to answer.

“Nine.” Another spoonful and then Harry’s bloodshot eyes were back on him, “So, what happened?”

“I got sick.”

Harry’s curiosity died then - Draco saw it, how his eyes just glazed over. Like it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “You got sick.” The disregard over one of his least enjoyable moments wasn’t appreciated. 

“I’ve only thought I’m going to die twice in my life, Potter and this was one of them. It’s called a Smothering Cold for a reason.”

“Oh.” Harry seemed to notice what he’d done. Or implied, or what Draco had inferred from him. Again, Draco assumed the Manor would force Harry asleep - another attack of beds and thoughts of rest invaded his head and Draco pushed it away. The scraping of spoon against bowl was too much and Harry started again. “Well it was Dudley’s birthday and he had all of his friends over. I was told if I was good, I might get some cake I’d never had any so I was pretty excited.”

Draco noticed how Harry stopped himself from rambling. Now, it was his turn and Draco wasn’t sure what facts he could hand over without some knowledge of one of the worst times of his life revealing itself. “I was alone. My mother and father left to some party, somewhere.”

It was a vineyard somewhere but Draco couldn’t think of which of the pureblood families purchased one. He hadn’t cared much for the reason why they left back then just that they had. 

“They left you?” Draco didn’t like the - the accusation in those words. Harry just didn’t understand. 

“It’s customary to go to a new opening of a friends business or venture - something about having many magical cores in the one place bringing luck.” Not that Draco ever believed it, never not even as a child. It was too easy even as a child who played as many games under the sun, luck was never easy. Luck should never be counted on: any business that tried that might as well melt their galleons and drink it. 

“I got locked in the cupboard and ignored after I cleaned the place.” Harry shrugged, as if this wasn’t the most alarming thing in his memory. “I sorta knew Petunia was lying but I always thought, maybe this time she means it. Maybe this’ll be the exception.” Draco did have experience with that strange, daydream-like thought. To deny reality and the people in it made for an odd experience. For one, it made Draco look and feel foolish. 

He did not know the people Harry spoke about and for once he was glad. This was the perfect time to stop. Go find Hermione and usher her into the room as a distraction. But-- it... Draco needed clarity.

“You said your worst memory wasn’t the cupboard.”

“I didn’t mind that, really. What I hated was I could hear it: the party. Everyone laughing, enjoying themselves. How long were you ill?”

“A fortnight but I--” Draco stopped. His illness was only a week long disaster, the extra week was him being kept out of sight - and the lie that his parents had told, made him tell, was still parroted back even now. A visceral disgust cramped at his gut and made Draco clam up - he couldn’t say anything more - nothing ever, nothing ever was said against parents. Not his mother who lied to Voldemort and nothing against his father who placed himself on a pedestal. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. What’s past is past.” 

And nothing would soothe his raw nerves or shield him from how exposed that realisation made him. He’d lie forever. Because if he didn’t then that only meant that his parents were--He loved them. That’s all he had to acknowledge. That’s all anyone had to know. Harry didn’t make it easier on him - did he ever? - and Draco debated on whether he could dismiss himself without making it obvious as to why. 

Finally, Harry broke off his stare and looked towards the door. “Is the tree still here?”

“You’re eating it. Part of it.” Draco was glad at the change in topic and went with it. Not like informing Harry he was correct was fun but it was better than the alternative. Harry’s smile crawled back onto his face and Draco wanted to flee then Of course Harry Potter was a smug bastard. He was never going to hear the end of this. 

“So I was right?” His smile grew and his back straightened. “About the tree helping?”

“On a technicality,” Draco bickered back, “just say it.”

“Say what?” Of course Potter was going to milk this for all its worth. Of bloody course. Draco tried to glare, change the mood back to something more tentative but nope - Harry just sat there, finished bowl of soup in his lap looking like he’d eaten ambrosia. 

“Some variation of I told you so, hurry it up. I don’t think I could deal with you acting like this all day.”

“Acting like what?” 

What a facetious prick, fine. “Like someone needs to remind you that you’re the idiot who was drinking dragonblood.” It had the opposite effect as Harry laughed again. Thankfully Hermione appeared alongside Goven and Draco didn’t have the opportunity to murder the man. 

“Harry, you seem in good spirits.” She returned a polite smile to Draco then while Siobhan gave a quick check on his temperature - down, much better she said - and Hermione was taking a great interest in what she was doing. But as Goven excused herself, it was Draco who Hermione addressed first. 

“Could you give us a minute, Draco.” Fine. Pushing off leaning against the dresser, Draco was about to agree, give Harry some time to spend with an actual friend. Maybe some air from that big head might pop out with a few choice words from the reigning Minister.

“Actually, he should stay since-- the Healer--” He was lying, clearly but Draco hadn’t a clue as to why. His bumbling mess was a curious thing, if only Draco had more time to pick all his hand waving, eye-darting mannerisms. First things first, to save this flash fire of a lie. 

“Goven said I should stay put earlier,” Draco interrupted Potter’s atrocious attempt at keeping him in the room, “I’ve seen the side effects already so I know what to look for. But I can leave if it’s urgent.”

Hermione would never consider anything urgent enough to bring to someone’s sickbed. 

“No, it can wait.” Draco stood nearer the door. Hermione ignored him and sat at the bottom of the bed. “I’m just relieved to see you’re okay. You had me and Ron worried!” 

Harry shifted around, rotated the empty bowl in his lap. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly. How are you feeling? You had such a high fever for a while.”

“I did?” Harry glanced over to him and Draco nodded. An odd thing that Draco was the one bolstering facts when they came from Hermione’s mouth. Why the distrust? “Honestly, I don’t feel that great. I kinda want to go to sleep again. I know you and Ron--”

Draco was worried then. The Manor was constant in its effort and Draco knew if Harry was as tired as he claimed then it wasn’t a fatigue he could fight for long. Hermione just patted the cover over his legs and she stood up, “I’m just happy to see you’re okay. Another time. When you’re feeling more up to it.” 

“Sure. Thanks,” Harry said as she reached over for a hug. One that Draco looked away from, unable to remove the idea he was intruding upon their friendship again. Hermione and Ron should be the ones helping. Why Ron wasn't helping Harry even when he knew how dangerous his magic had really become spoke louder than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a lot of kudos! So, thank you all! It's kinda crazy how many people are reading this. Thank you again. Urgh. I feel like a parrot saying the same thing. But thank you!
> 
> Going by what I've still to write, I'm guessing... maybe... 40 chapters in total? That's the plan anyway! If it looks like it'll be much shorter or longer, I'll let you know. There's no more angsty or dour chapters till somewhere near the... 30s? If we're going by my guess of length. So, more owl hi-jinks and drarry stuff appearing from now on. The groundwork has been set and everything can snowball from here. :'D


	17. The (Potter) Incident

If Harry was a better liar, he would have told Draco to leave too, for he was going to sleep again. What he didn’t do was either of those things. Instead he tried leaving the bed, a notion that made Draco want to weep in frustration.

“So help me, if you try once more, I will apparate you to St. Mungos and leave them to deal with you.” All Harry did was choose not to listen - not even a little bit - and started to put weight onto his feet and he curled his hands in the sheets as if they had the strength to stop him being acquainted with the floor on a more personal level. His attitude to being ill made Harry the worst kind of sick. ‘‘I'm fine,’ he would say, dying. 

How Ginny hadn’t throttled him to an early grave was beyond comprehension. What did he think he was doing? No one needed Harry Potter to go into work like a flailing fish. “No you won’t. You couldn’t afford the publicity that would bring you.” Draco did not appreciate the world savvy Harry Potter. Manipulating him might be more difficult than Draco first thought. 

So Draco stopped talking. Let Harry think he’d won this round.

Harry eyed him, suspicious at the lack of nagging. Or more directly, any help in his mission to leave. As Draco waited for the inevitable, he crossed his arms and tried giving Potter the most unimpressed expression he could muster. Harry had almost died, in what world did he just get to walk freely after?

Only the thump as Harry fell to the floor, a groan from hitting his nose - glasses squashed against his brow - and Draco laughed. In relief, honestly, and in no way sadistic despite Harry’s attempt to glare back at him. Harry flailed a little, rolling onto his side and Draco rolled his eyes. He should call Siobhan, let her deal with this. 

“Are you quite finished?” He watched as Harry tried his best to push himself up with his arms, grabbing out to the bedside table. That didn’t help any as they trembled as if never used and he didn’t move anywhere. 

It was another five minutes before Harry slumped in defeat of his own body. The sagging of his shoulders came first and then a sigh which was too close to a huff to dismiss as whimsical. “Yes,” Harry said, staring at the ceiling and choosing to not acknowledge Draco. 

“Are you sure?” Draco needled, “I’d hate for you to try this again. Please, do carry on, get it out of your system.” Not that seeing an ill person, once strong enough to destroy the Manor, now pitifully squirming on the floor was an enjoyable spectacle. Harry was not one to follow boundaries and the sooner he learned to take everything slowly, the better for everyone. The easier Draco could sleep and not worry about the fool leaving, thinking he knew best and doing more damage to himself in the long run. 

“You can be such a--”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, I’m sure,” Draco dismissed the bickering. He didn’t dare go near Potter, instead levitated him onto the bed. Harry didn’t argue. He wasn’t pleased but he didn’t argue. “Now, I’d like to confirm something, your magic. Did it hurt Lily or Rose? Or both?”

Harry stilled, stopped trying to pull the covers over him again. “Did Scorpius tell you?”

Don’t tell, don’t say--Draco’s gut twisted. “Scorpius was there too?” Draco’s jaw set in place and now, he wished Potter was still on the floor.

“Yeah,” Harry had sat back against the headboard and said, “It was like what I did before. Though it wasn’t that big,” he started to talk animatedly with his hands and it didn’t matter. Draco wasn’t listening at that point. 

Scorpius had been in danger and he hadn’t even known about it. Danger like the damage to the sitting room and those adjacent. He hadn’t seen it from behind glass or read it in a book: he’d been in the same position, a vortex of magic out of control.

“Scorpius promised he would tell you.” 

Draco sat down slow, processing. What did that mean? Was he now no longer trustworthy in his son’s eyes? His teeth started to hurt his bottom lip and it didn’t calm his whirling thoughts. When was this? Had Scorpius acted off at any time?

“I thought it was weird you were helping me. Even Ron was furious-- I get it-- I’ll get Siobhan to take me to St. Mungos--”

“Shut up.”

Harry stopped, sat and wrung his hands together.

Now, warring against someone else was easy. everything they did was dumb, stupid, idiotic, not good enough. Draco knew, absolutely for certain Harry had no control over his magical outburst - it wasn’t his fault Charlie put dragonblood in the potions Harry asked for. It was also Harry’s fault Scorpius might’ve been hurt, dangerously so. 

So, what was he to do? How was he supposed to settle opposing knowledge like this? 

“He didn’t get hurt, did he?” Draco wouldn’t forgive himself if his son had to weep over his wounds alone, afraid over how Draco would react. Harry shook his head and it did nothing to settle the squirming maggots in Draco’s gut and the lump in his throat.

“No, no they were all okay. Ron. Ron helped keep them safe.” 

But if he hadn’t been there… 

“I’m going to bed. Goven can deal with you from now on.”

Draco left the room, ignoring his name being called. It hurt. To be in the dark so much over Scorpius despite everything. Hermione hadn’t told him. Scorpius hadn’t told him. No one had. Scorpius was his son and no one had told him he was in any danger. 

The shower was biting cold and Draco didn’t bother to change the temperature neither did he care about the Manor’s suggestion of a meal. He slept in his bed for the first time in three days and he took hours to fall asleep. Awaking, Lotty stood at his bedside and he waited. She wasn’t upset or distressed so Harry was probably still alive.

“Mister Potter is refusing treatment from the Healer and from Lotty.” She must have overheard, her tone different in regards to Harry. “He said, he would like to speak with Draco Malfoy before anything proceeds. Lotty told Harry Potter, Master Malfoy was resting, Lotty told him.” 

Draco sent her away. Then she reappeared, asking again a few hours later. Until it was well into the afternoon and Draco hadn’t taken a step out of bed. Yet, Lotty continued to ask, on Harry’s behalf, for him to come and help. 

“Lotty was asked again. Lotty didn’t want to be rude - even though Lotty is mending the Manor - Mister Harry Potter wishes Master Draco Malfoy’s presence.”

Fine, if Harry wanted to see him, fine. But not yet, not so soon after having the spiteful idea to meet him and tell him exactly what was on his mind. Another shower, another slow dress and groom before Draco was well prepared to deal with the thoughts in his head. 

Entering, Siobhan was giving what sounded like a lecture. She faltered when Harry sat up straighter and ignored Siobhan altogether. Draco wanted to smash the side table against his face because Siobhan didn’t speak again, she just picked up her things and excused herself, red in the face. She should have stayed, been a distraction, someone else Draco could focus on instead of the brewing anger.

For once Harry was patient and Draco could only hear the grandfather clock from outside. 

“If you ever place my son in harm’s way again, I will do what Voldemort couldn’t.”

He expected shock or horror. Unease at relying on Draco for his health but knowing that’s what Draco really thought. Maybe a smugness or jeer that Draco wouldn’t manage such a task. Harry just smiled, if a bit forced.

“If I ever hurt any of the kids, I’ll let you.” Harry Bloody Potter, taking his anger away in one Gryffindor, self-sacrificing bullshit sentence. Good. At least Harry knew where he stood. 

Of course, Draco saw the guilt - it was clear and obvious like a sky with no clouds - and Draco remembered Potter’s own sons and daughter were apparently within the disaster. He didn’t need to pretend that having Scorpius loathe him or Merlin, be scared of him was enough to push Draco to another avenue of conversation just to deny how awful that would truly be for him.

“If you’d prefer I can get you another Healer. All be considering.” The dressings on Harry’s arms were grey again, cracking and peeling over the quilt. Clearly there were issues with having Siobhan treat a conscious Harry. She was a liar, untrustworthy and Draco wasn’t surprised at the breakdown in treatment.

“I don’t mind her, really. She said you could do them.” Draco doubted every word of that. “I can tell you about what happened while you do.” It was a terrible deal with Draco only gaining more insight to how close Scorpius was to injury, from the very person who caused him harm in the first place. How accurate could Harry be, how truthful would his story be to reality?

This was bait. A shitty power move because Potter was holding not only the answers to all of Draco’s questions but he’d be the one who could shut down and change subjects. Damn it. Auror Potter obviously had dealt with politics a tad more than Draco assumed. 

“Fine.” Draco turned to fetch the soaking bandages. If he saw Harry’s satisfied face at winning (again) Draco would suffocate the man with them. They smelled worse, the older they were. Bitter but reminiscent of peppermint, something that stuck in his nose and throat and opened up his lungs with a breath. Draco sat on the bed, decided even though Harry offered that mangled arm of his - no longer mangled but Draco couldn’t see anything else - he took the other to rewrap first. So, Draco picked and pulled the top of the material and it crackled further and he hated this. 

“Scorpius was showing off to Lily and Rose.” The annoyance at doing Siobhan’s job eased away. Old and crumbling under Draco’s fingers, he peeled off what he could. Harry seemed too interested in what he was doing and Draco kept his head down and focused on his task. He’d only ask Harry a question if he appeared to avoid or brush over anything.

“Then, Albus and James were arguing - Scorpius and Rose and Lily, they all jumped in and were yelling and I... I got angry, y’know? Told them to cut it out and then--” Draco wanted to look at how Harry said those words, to see if it was all just another play. No, don’t bother. What good would it do either of them but make this more awkward or hostile? The only positive thing about this, out of everything, Harry’s temperature was down and Draco couldn’t feel that last furnace of a fever on his skin.

“One minute everything’s fine, the next, Ron’s pulling Lily away, apparates the two girls first then comes back for Albus and Scorpius.” He had to thank Ron now. Bloody Merlin was thankful to Ronald bloody Weasley. “James was shouting. So’s Hermione.” 

Draco tried not to interrupt Potter’s trip down horrifying memory lane but whispered a spell to remove the speckles of bandage and dried goop that were stuck to the hair of his forearm. Now to the problematic part. He really, really didn’t want to touch Potter’s arm, thanks. Not again. Not again. Never.

He was a Malfoy, this shouldn’t be such a big deal. Get over it. 

“Ginny was just crying and saying something - I couldn’t really - really hear her? I was still so mad and I didn’t know why.” Harry paused when Draco stopped trying to roll the damn thing around his arm. Not because Draco was disturbed over what he was hearing. No, he’d bloody well had to fix the way the material had sat on Harry’s arm, not tight enough, and start over. “When it passed, I was outside. Hermione helped me inside and I saw it. How messed up I must be.”

Draco could tell, after so many years in school to what he could only call the ‘Potter Gaze’. A heavy, prickling sensation in his head, the back of his neck and Draco was self-conscious of his handiwork. Distraction, that’s what Draco needed. 

“How was Scorpius?”

Harry started again and Draco nearly - but did not because he had something known as impulse control - sighed, and bit his lip. “He was… He was calming Lily and Rose down. But he wasn’t hurt.” Scorpius who had been scared of attention had changed by the end of his fifth year. Seeker for Slytherin and more than eclipsing Draco’s skills created a swell in confidence within the boy that at time Draco wasn’t too fond of - it sounded that this wasn’t one of those times. He’d done well to keep his cool. 

“I’ve never seen her so upset, neither of them. And, and Albus was nearby. I--” Draco was tempted to flee when Harry’s arm twitched in his hands and for a moment, he was back in that room holding a bloody one down, “--The way everyone looked at me.” 

One arm complete. Only one more to go, Draco’s mantra helped. Just get over it, it’s just an arm. This side, he was faster. Not wishing to see that flat area of flesh where the scale leech had its banquet. The second time Draco cast his spell only made Harry start talking again. Out of the silence - only the ripping of bandage and squish of goop - Draco preferred the train-wreck of a story Harry was telling.

“Ginny said I shouldn’t stay. Ron, he didn’t even look at me. He just -- Hermione practically held him back. And I left.”

Draco never asked anything else. What was the point when he could ask Scorpius? What was the point in prolonging this awkward affair that made Draco’s normal still hands tremor slightly. No one would notice. Harry wouldn’t notice. Get over it.

“Can I ask you something?” Draco hummed, not too keen on agreeing until he knew for sure what Harry’s end goal. And just as Draco was starting to unwind the bandage on his skin, Harry grabbed his wrist and Draco wanted to apparate. “Do you always flinch when someone touches you?”

“I don’t flinch.” Draco kept his eye on the arm he was to fix. Not on Harry’s face or how weak Harry’s grip was around his wrist - Draco could easily break away - or how he sounded concerned. Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. If he could just let go and not make this weird. Draco wasn’t touched by people, no hugs or handshakes, no goodbye pecks of the cheek. 

“You didn’t answer my question. You avoided Siobhan too.” 

Did he? Draco didn’t think so. Again, Harry was seeing whatever he wanted to fit his own inference. Really, with Harry refusing medical expertise from the woman who could help versus having Draco - who knew next to nothing, this wasn’t the best solution. A word with Siobhan might sway her to leave early, payment in full but that would still leave Harry in a lurch if any other complications arose. 

“After her actions I trust Siobhan as much as I would a manticore with a lamb.” Not to say that Harry was the lamb, Draco gulped. Awake he clearly held the same attention most gave him wherever he went. Goven hadn’t been so nice to Draco and he was the one paying her. She was professional in that she wouldn’t let Harry die - and that was all Draco had to rely on. Notwithstanding her lying to try and score points and prestige were irrelevant. 

‘Harry Potter needs my help,’ Draco had to wonder how many people were convinced by that alone. He wasn’t entirely sure he was immune to the effect. After all, here he was, wrapping up Harry’s arms as if he didn’t have a Healer on call. Draco grimaced, now uncomfortable beyond words. Harry had calluses on the pads of his fingers.

“Is that how much you trust me?”

Where was this coming from? If there was one question Draco really couldn’t measure was how much he trusted Potter: he hadn’t a clue what his response to the Rings of Celius would be or how Draco was an animagus, or how terribly bored he was, or how much he loathed those parties because the only person who made them any fun, wasn’t here anymore. Or how, Draco was content leaving Scorpius under his care - even now, the only person left Draco treasured beyond himself. How could he trust the Saviour of the Wizarding World when Draco hadn’t had a conversation that hadn’t held some sniding comment about him or to him?

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco didn’t pull his hand back, Harry just gave up and let his hand slide back to the top of the covers. Unfurling the roll of make-shift gauze fell onto the bed and untangled some of itself from Harry’s arm. 

“It doesn’t? I trust you.”

Well, that was a terrible lie. Draco rubbed at his wrist, trying to remove the weight of those fingers. “No, you don’t. You have to trust me right now to do right by you - but anything else and I’m still the Death Eater ready to do bad.” The lack of response proved it. 

Draco could feel that Potter Gaze from then on. No matter what noise, a fake cough, a clear of the throat, Draco didn’t raise to see what he wanted. No, he was focusing on not vomiting over the place because there it was. The patch of skin which days before had been torn and pulled, bled and made Harry howl with pain. And it was blemish free, as if the nightmare was only in a dream and had never taken place.

He unrolled the bandage carefully, he wouldn’t be able to try this one again. Get over it. Just stop staring, Draco wanted to say but instead said, “What?” 

“Sorry. About before, with Luna. She’s my friend and--”

“I’m not.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, sounding like he was the victim in this talk. 

“You have a habit of saying one thing and implying the other.”

“And you take offence whenever I say anything.” Harry sighed and for second, Draco thought this chat over. “Thanks for putting me on the wards, Siobhan said it would help.” That all sounded a little too much like Siobhan gave the impression she’d came up with the idea. One which Draco wouldn’t correct just yet. If Siobhan wanted credit, fine. The less Harry knew of his time near death, the better for them all. What if he didn’t realise how close he had been to dying? Would Potter retreat and curse the Malfoy name again? “I think it’s helping me sleep, actually. I haven’t slept so well in a while.” 

Draco froze at the top, at the end of this terrible task. 

Well, that was wrong. Malfoy Manor was not a charm or potion to lull those inside to sleep. It protected and made sure to keep those inside healthy, nudging those inside towards what they required. The Manor might give images of food and blow curative leaves towards them, but it didn’t make anything; not the leaves nor the hot meal. Sleeping woes were never overcome by the Manor. Draco should know, he’d dealt with months of insomnia when Astoria left him. 

Harry’s cheerful visage was all the more explainable then. A rest, without potion. All because Siobhan - who else could it be - gave the impression his house was a giant dream catcher. Bloody idiot. No, that’s not how it worked. Draco was going to correct the mistake until he saw how Harry did look well rested. Instead of bloodshot eyes, they were their bright green again and Draco faltered. 

“Right. The Manor likes to keep its wards as happy as possible,” Draco lied and put the knowledge Potter was easily influenced by placebos and half-truths and finished tying off the bandage. Done. Finished. He’d never do this again. 

“You said the Manor isn’t sentient.” The head tilt was back and Draco sighed deeply. Well, he had to remind himself that Potter was magically inclined but not educated. 

“It has no feelings or thoughts. No opinion unless I give it one to pursue. It has no will of its own.” 

“Then you’re happy I’m still around?” Draco scoffed loud enough for Harry to realise how dumb that question sounded. What a bold assumption. 

“It’s boring in here.” Harry looked around the room and Draco caught the sigh. And that was a jump in conversation. Again. 

“Look here.” Draco pointed to his own eyes, and Harry just blinked and stared back. Two different sizes. His pupils were two different sizes. How didn’t he see this before? The one time he didn’t stare Potter down. “You took a pain relief potion, didn’t you?” Draco leaned closer and squinted at the left - it was changing size again. Well, what Siobhan had done was clear enough.

“How did you know? I told her not to say anything.” Mad is what he sounded, accusingly so. Like Draco had harassed Siobhan for all his secrets. 

“Because I’m not thick.” 

“My arm hurts.” As if to highlight it, Harry pretended to cradle it. As if Draco was dumb enough to fall for this. 

“Just your arm?”

A few seconds dragged by and Harry didn’t enjoy being questioned. 

“Just my arm.” Harry wasn’t budging. Draco couldn’t prove otherwise and let it drop. He’d make sure to question Goven later. 

Wandering over to the still transfigured table, Draco set another clean but not soaked dressing into the goop. He was too intent on keeping the whole thing inside than listening to Harry’s patter. Potter’s Gaze followed him all the meanwhile. Five minutes and Draco thought he’d blocked Harry’s voice out permanently. Until he heard him.

“...That’s kinda funny.”

He’d almost missed it, Draco wasn’t sure if he heard that in its entirety. “What is?” 

“Forget I said anything.” It was the bludgering way he’d forced the words out - they couldn’t be said quick enough. Draco wasn’t sure what in this room was funny - other than him and all he was doing was now getting rid of that foul smell from his hands. What remained a vague curiosity ended up having Draco’s full attention even as Lotty entered with another meal. 

Potter had forced his mouth shut, hand over it awkwardly and elbow on his knee. Staring out the window as Lotty placed the dish on the bed, Draco watched as Harry’s face got redder. A flush crawling up his neck to his jaw, to his cheeks. 

“Right,” Draco said as he left Lotty to feed Potter.

He hated missing anything and now, he had the urge to turn back into an owl and fly away. Potions were still downstairs needing to be tended to - and Harry was, slowly, healing. So, he went to his laboratory and ignored self-conscious question that was niggling in his head: What was so funny? Why, Merlin, was Harry blushing? Had Siobhan given him the wrong dosage? If so, what was he supposed to do about it? 

Two of his potions boiled over and Draco swore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry for the late update. Not been so well lately (vertigo/dizziness) so I've tried to keep away from lights etc. Sadly that also counts as anything with a backlight. 
> 
> Hoping it'll pass soon though. (I suspect just a cold. Which case, I'll be golden soon enough). 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll try and update ASAP.


	18. It Begins Anew

Neither Siobhan, Lotty nor Draco ever claimed to have witnessed Harry use so much as an _Accio _. Siobhan gave the impression this was common and gave a blanket command that Harry should not use any magic, not until he could walk on his own. No point in stressing him out when his nervous and immune system was still fighting off whatever infection the leach left.__

____

____

Another week passed and Draco was glad at the routine which allowed him to squirrel himself away in his lab following no interruptions. Sixty potions and counting and Draco understood Charlie Weasley’s desperation. Either the potion’s half life was too short and would be ineffective lasting a whole night or the ingredients themselves counteracted with each other and boiled over.

Draco was no Master of potions as much as he liked how that sounded. Snape was, probably knew a million different ways to make Potter what he needed. Trial and error made one potion slow, so slow at times Draco couldn’t say he’d made any progress. Three cauldrons were set up today, bubbling anew and Draco scoffed at his notes. A strong primer, something to bind the rest together: he wasn’t sure if he had one. 

Was it wrong to enjoy this? To have his brain scratch and pull at an answer he was sure he could grasp. Soon, Harry might turn back to an insomniac his restful nights gone and even then Draco liked the idea of the mystery, a puzzle to solve and the reward that he was the one to solve it. Not his money given for someone else to solve it, him, Draco Malfoy. 

He heard Siobhan’s pitter-patter footsteps as she trotted down the stairs, behind her was the charmed and transfigured armchair. Not as bulky as its original form, allowing it through the doorways of the Manor, and on it was Harry. “He was in need of a new setting.”

“And he’s sleeping?” Draco wasn’t sure trusted Potter asleep. Too often than not, he awoke when Siobhan was not in the room or left not long before. 

“We were in the garden. Which reminds me I will need an hour at most to purchase some supplies that are running low.” Siobhan set down the chair nearby the planter box and Harry did not stir. Draco refused to move, even if having Potter behind him was a prime locale to start his staring nonsense again. The back of his head couldn’t be that interesting.

Whether it be the pain potions Siobhan supplied him, the extra sleep he gained here while under the illusion it helped: Potter was weird. Strange. Chirpy. 

“Anything else?”

Siobhan sided up to the counter and Draco frowned at the green tint one of the cauldrons turned. That couldn’t be good, it’d been yellow the minute before. “I don’t see why we’re at odds, I think we could benefit each other quite well.” Draco flicked his eyes over to Siobhan, who was turning over one of the empty potion vials in her hands. 

Pansy had said something similar once. 

“Perhaps you’ll speak more plainly before I get the wrong idea.” 

“What can I say? I’m ambitious.” She half-shrugged. “A clinic of my own is what I want. I could have an entire ward of people rushing around to Harry Potter’s every whim. I certainly don’t need to be doing all this… trainee cleaning.” Her nose scrunched and Draco wondered how long she’d been resentful at casting cleaning spells. “I don’t just want your Galleons, Mr. Malfoy. These too. I could give a list of patients who need someone… decent at brewing a potion or too, not that they’d take a potion from a Malfoy. I’d happily mediate, for a fee.” She smiled, not unpretty in the least and Draco froze at the sound of her voice, “It could benefit us both quite well.”

Right. He set down the knife.

“You couldn’t make Ravenclaw, never mind Slytherin.”

“Some nuisance to that insult was lost I’m afraid.” Siobhan continued to read the labels on the empty vials, twisting them in her hands and paranoia she’d drop them reared. She was quite ambitious but also quite petty. 

Beauxbatons, then. The near flirting made sense now - never too obvious and never a complete rejection. Everyone knew sending a daughter to Beauxbatons meant to make her a lady of distinguished reputation. In the same vein, Krumstrang made their men rough and belligerent, the ladies from the French school were _femme fatales_ through and through. Many a rich man had handed his last Knut over to a graduate of that bloody school. Draco wasn’t interested in being the newest fool.

“I didn’t purchase your services because they were the best in your field, Ms. Goven. I bought you for your silence. Either Potter lives, in which case you can’t use it as a stepping stone in your little agenda or Potter dies in which case-- and do listen well -- I will make sure your name is the one attached to it,” Draco sneered at her huffing, “now, why don’t you go and buy those herbs you’ve been lacking so much over the last few days.” Siobhan flicked her wand, and Harry’s chair was back in the air. 

“You can leave him here in Lotty’s care, I gather you won’t be too long. You do still have a job to do.” Draco wasn’t satisfied at Siobhan’s retreating pout. He half wanted Astoria to raise from her grave and hex her into oblivion. Did he look like someone who was easily swayed by a pretty face? Don’t make him laugh. The most beautiful woman in the world was his wife - a little, pathetic and too fake a smile did nothing but sour his affections. 

His anger, the insult which came with the flirtation, that he was all but a payment to further someone else was enough. In Siobhan’s defence, he wouldn’t have been so angry if not to be reminded of bloody Anthony Wilks. A man half Draco’s age and still keen to have the Malfoy fortune, in some form. Draco hadn’t managed to say anything back then, Blaise and Nott had laughed their arses off. 

His day was ruined.

Bloody Anthony Wilks.

Bloody waste of a wizard. Moran had no brain but at least the brat didn’t think of marrying into a family he was not welcome. An attempt at Astoria, now aimed at him and Draco loathed the ease Anthony’s affections passed over and he was under no illusions as to why. Malfoy’s were not welcome but they still held coffers of fortunes that eclipsed every other pureblood. 

The youthful really were a terrible curse upon themselves. 

“One last thing, Ms. Goven.” She stopped by the stairs and Draco made sure to turn and meet her eye. She was petulant, not having the conversation go her way. “The next time you try and be ambitious, don’t speak like I’m in need of your services. I can find several of your types anywhere, at any time - just do the job I paid you to do.” 

She fled away, red on her face that more matched Gryffindor’s banner. Draco shuddered and returned to stir a cauldron.

On cue, the tingling at the back of his head started and Harry Potter was awake. He didn’t even need to turn around to check. Best let Potter think he’d managed to hear the conversation incognito than possibly discuss the galleon-chasers of the wizarding community that were always after the Twenty-Eight’s descendants. 

Brewing a potion and having Potter stare was not fun, not like how it would be if Draco was alone. Now the same questions bubbling in his head and unlike the cauldrons and potions, he had no idea what anything meant. Bed bound was no fun and allowing Harry some freedom to roam the Manor was an idea that for him, had backfired in momentous style. Now Potter was everywhere. Staring.

And Draco still hadn’t a clue as to what was so funny to warrant the attention. In cruel response, Harry hadn’t mentioned it again. Draco was bound to never utter the question, not unless he wanted to tell Potter how often his gaze created such a self-conscious and embarrassed mess underneath the Malfoy scowl. 

The Manor shook and Draco looked to the ceiling. “What was that?” Harry said from behind him. 

It felt like Blaise. Why was he here now? Damn it. The Manor closed the door at the top of the stairs, time gained, if only a few seconds. Knowing him, he’d check a few rooms before the lab. 

“Unless you want Blaise knowing you’re sick, sit here.” Draco slid off his chair by the lab and waved Harry’s seat over. Harry nodded, a little frantic and tried to push himself off and onto the other. It was a mess, really. Harry shifting himself over to a chair shouldn’t take that much time. But Draco didn’t offer help, not until the door opened and he heard Blaise yell down.

“Draco, you about?”

“Down here.” 

Draco helped then. Grabbing an arm and all but shoving him over. 

Harry sank onto the counter-top, sighing. One last thing to hide. Draco spelled the out of place seat against the wall, next to the bookcases. The arms bulked up, the wooden legs growing. Draco turned back to his potions, then as a last second fix, levitated Potter and his seat over a bit - no one would believe Draco was allowing him his perch when he was brewing. No, Blaise wouldn’t believe that. Potter sat at the end and Blaise swaggered into the lab. 

“Potter, here again I see.” Blaise didn’t sound too friendly. “Came to see how you were doing, considering the Prophet.” 

Blaise held it out and Draco gave a scolding look to Potter. “Don’t touch anything.” He left the station and skimmed the first page. 

The Prophet did not show him on page one. It mentioned him. ‘Astoria’s Malfoy Was Scared and Unhappy - read page 5’. Turning to see the same letter Daphne had warned him over, in the midst of a popular newspaper turned his stomach. Unhappy? Astoria? Because he, Draco Malfoy was cruel and cold to her? 

Sure. That was lie after lie and Blaise and Potter were watching him too closely now.

“Consider it handled.” The Prophet wasn’t a wand ready to aim and cast at his head. The Greengrasses were aware of the letter, aware it would be spread around. Daphne had given him reasonable time to think over the eventuality this would happen.

Blindsided and reacting out of anger Draco was not. 

The Greengrasses would, along with any other allies of their family would rise to meet this. But Draco could not. It would hinder the argument Daphne would use: anyone who believed this was a fool - that it held no merit. Draco responding was exactly what the Prophet was hoping for and Draco was glad to disappoint the glorified gossip rag. 

“It’s in the paper, it’s not handled.”

Blaise was a Zabini. A family which solidified its image by being as far away from political, social and moral scandal. This might have him running for the hills panicking. A Malfoy? Excuse him while he sharpened his talons, he’ll answer this when necessary. Draco shrugged, not bothering how Blaise and Harry interacted so long as no secrets were shared. 

“So, Potter, are you going to be a permanent fixture around here or what?” 

“Draco’s helping me with a case.” Draco was so terribly glad Potter was focused on the wall in front and not on Zabini. He’d smell a lie fast. 

“Is he now?” Damn it. Not even the possibility of Harry asking Draco for help entertained Blaise for more than a few seconds. This had to end fast and with as little chatter as possible because all Blaise would do was dig and dig.

“Having you and Potter in the same room as the potion I’m trying to brew is asking the Fates to ruin it.” Returning to chop up the rest of the rose thorns, Draco pretended everything was perfectly fine. Potter was taking up too much room and Blaise wouldn’t sniff out Draco’s lie: that this was a comfortable position to stand in while caring for three boiling cauldrons and that Potter wasn’t in the way. 

Harry was way too warm, too close and Draco kept ending up with an elbow in the ribs.

“You’re in a shitty mood, did I interrupt?” Blaise’s smile was always a bit blinding and more than a little crude. Draco shifted his weight, away from Potter, where he stood and decided to explain that one.

“I was reminded of Wilks.” 

“He’s still at it?” For one, Blaise was too impressed, too smug and far too irritating to delve deeper into that thought on the actions of that galleon-chaser. “He’s committed.” Blaise grinned, crossed his arms and looked far too pleased with himself. “You get it?”

“Worst joke I’ve heard all day and Lotty only knows one.” It wasn’t a polite manufactured laugh that passed between them. Potter erupted and Draco nearly flinched, Blaise didn’t so much as chuckle and the damned self-conscious itch was back and a flutter in his chest at the sound of Harry’s unabashed laughter was the most confusing thing about it all. 

Blaise wasn’t eager to leave. It made brewing more difficult contending conversations from two people, who at this point, Draco decided were not well acquainted enough to move passed the side-eye and interrogating questions stage. Potter might actually be trying to dig up dirt versus Blaise might find out about Harry’s vulnerability. Back and forth, question after question and Draco left them to it. 

“I’ll leave you two alone then. Cooking up whatever.” Blaise took one last peek over the rims of the cauldron, grimaced at the smell of burnt flowers and melting guts.

“Thanks for the paper, Blaise.”

“Anytime.” Blaise gave a solitary wave as his goodbye and left without the paper he’d delivered. 

The Daily Prophet’s front page was of a riot, somewhere hot and roads turning sandy instead of muddy. Draco sat the paper down, finally done hearing about what the world still thought of him. Potions were a priority and now he had to contend that Harry Potter was at his side doing his ridiculous staring routine again.

Between the potions and the Prophet, Draco didn’t notice the elbow and warmth radiating as much. The locale was not important but the picture was lively, a crup launching itself onto someone - a Muggle, a Wizard, it didn’t matter - Draco was solely interested in the little animal. Just one, not a team or pack, so somewhere its Master must be, in danger. Moving again, the crup pranced around the feet of those it didn’t mind - more likely Wizard enemies then with a few Muggles strewn around.

It was, despite its dangerous nature, the bloody most adorable creature ever. The little ears and their little paws and their wet noses and their--

“You like crups.”

Bugger. What kind of expression had he shown? Draco fixed it. He scowled, noticed the weight as Harry leaned closer to the paper and refused to budge. This was his space. 

“Does it matter if I do?” Draco pushed the idea he’d made an irrefutable expression over his fondness for the (adorable) creatures, one Potter was going to pick on like a bloody crow at a carcass. 

“Not as if you’re lacking the space. Or the money.” Harry twirled around some of the chopped up stem, bored and not paying much attention now. Well, Auror Potter wasn’t in today, it seemed. For if Draco had the time, money and desire to buy a crup he’d have a whole field of the blasted things already and still wanted more. 

He’d wanted one ever since he’d seen one as a child. And his father had refused and Child Draco was devastated at the word no. 

One of the cauldron's gave a warning shake and Draco calmed the flame. This wasn’t looking good. “I tried to buy one for Scorpius when his mother passed. Not one breeder or vendor would sell to me.” Potter sat up off the counter for the first time. Malfoy’s weren’t allowed them. He (the Death Eater and Death Eater’s son) weren’t allowed them. When his quest for a crup pup for Scorpius ended in failure, Draco had an epiphany that his father hadn’t told him no because of discipline or harshness but even he hadn’t manage to obtain one.

“I’ll buy you one when I’m allowed to walk around again. As thanks and all.”

Draco froze. No. No, Potter didn’t understand. “You can try. Blacklisted doesn’t care if you’re Harry Potter.”

Harry laughed and Draco hated how it made him giddier. “That’ll be a first.”

The sheer blooming excitement over the possibility of having his own was too much. No. No. Draco couldn’t expect Potter to understand. He couldn’t begin to hope for one. It was a dream, a dream that as a father unable to give his son, wasn’t allowed. He bit his lip, hard to stop him from sounding grateful. All Harry was doing was speaking. There would be no crup, no one would sell even Harry Potter one if they knew it ended up in Malfoy’s hands.

But he really did want crup. Another look at the Prophet showed the little thing wagging its tail and Draco needed to think and talk about something else. He threw the Prophet to the floor, the distraction gone and the work back in front of him. 

“They won’t sell to you unless you go inside to see them. A crup bonds and is fiercely loyal - and there’s no way I’ll be allowed inside. It’s pointless.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

The shrug irked because Draco didn’t want to believe those words - but he did, because they were so much like Harry Potter. He’d fought against a whole army seeking him out in the countryside and still he’d won - but the shrug was so… not bothered and Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk into a place with crups for sale and be told no again. Hearing this, hoping for something else was just a sure way to crush the dream.

No. Potter was wrong. (Maybe). Definitely wrong. (Not). A new subject, a new subject, think, think, think. 

“Before that, you’ll have to go and see a certain apothecary to prove I didn’t kill you.” Draco killed the hope dead as he threw in a measure of rose thorns into the three cauldrons. The burning smell turned sweeter, more pungent. Draco would not remind him the trip to this apothecary was done in his pyjamas. Even if the owner allowed him back, his pride would never dare set foot in there again. How did he look that night? Not decent at any rate. Now, if only Harry could agree to _Obliviate_ her. 

“Okay.” 

So, what now? Once Harry was able to move around without aid Draco had appointments now? With Harry? To two places that were explicitly on his no go list. They might end worse than the first time he’d shown his face. Harry was being odd. Really, really, really odd. Perhaps a side effect from the pain potions? For one, he hadn’t shifted from his awkward position neither did he complain about Draco having to lean almost over him for access to the the third cauldron, or the occasional shoulder bump.

“You’re being terribly upbeat today.”

A few days prior, Harry had refused to answer anyone after Draco didn’t redo a dressing. They'd argued, not surprisingly. All the leaves were gone now, the mixture grey and too old to be of any use. Draco had then asked Siobhan if they were addictive in any way. She had giggled at him and Draco didn’t need any words to feel daft.

“I’ve already died once. How bad can things really get?”

No measures made it to any cauldrons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, updates will be more frequent like before! May Draco gushing over wizard puppers bring you joy. Owl!Draco next chapter. And... 
> 
> Turns out the early summer cold wasn't that but an awesome combo of allergies and food poisoning that came on at different times. Do not recommend having both at the same time. 100% 100% now though. I took a few days just to make sure my head was on tight before starting the chapter (didn't want to make continuity errors). 
> 
> Thank you for your patience for this chapter, reading and support! <3


	19. The Liar

Was it rude to ask about circumstance when involving near death experiences? Potter was a liar, a poor one at that. So, even if Draco asked how or why, would his answers really mean anything? The measuring cup was half full and Draco couldn’t remember how much was to be added. Cauldron One was a copper pot, older than even Draco and forever blackened on its underside. The flames gave off a sickening metallic stench which stung at his eyes. Smoke rose and sparks flicked over the rim.

Draco wasn’t sure why Harry was lying. The Daily Prophet wouldn’t fail reporting the near death of Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Britain. Front page news with all the trimmings, interviews of loved ones and speculation abounds for all to read. 

Six years ago, Harry started on his journey and not even his magical misconduct was written in any newspaper. Aurors hadn’t given their boss up to the needy reports. Draco might not read bloody gossip - he was far too important for everyone else’s nattering opinion - but Potter always made headlines. Visible and outrageous headlines. And yet, nothing in the papers pointed to what might cause Potter to die, to go off on a bender with sleeping potions and potentially ruin his own life over its side effects.

“You—you died?” Draco didn’t want to consider the world where Potter did die, did lose. A last hope, however small and despised, was what Harry Potter was against Voldemort and his vision of a new world. Never would he admit it to anyone, not even under an Unforgivable. Funny how Draco was not brave or smart enough, not strong or lucky enough to turn against the monster in his house, who kept his mother and father quaking. But Potter was, always was the qualities Draco found himself lacking.

Harry didn’t answer, not right away. He continued to twirl and twist the stems in his hands - his fingertips dyeing a dull green. Each time Harry pulled back, he bumped his shoulder against Draco. It was weird to find it didn’t bother him as much as it once did. Dropping another measure of thorns, he glanced over to Potter. Really Harry didn’t seem to be upset over the question. Just quiet and tearing at the useless ingredients. 

Harry inclined his head, not like a nod which gave little up for misinterpretation. This was all he gave in response. For once in his life, Draco didn’t press for more information even if those titbits were no doubt the most interesting he’d hear. They might give Draco a hint to how to brew the perfect cure for the lack of sleep or simply how to converse with Potter without arguing and tripping over every invisible sensibility. 

Another bump into his shoulder, this one deliberate and wholly too rough to play it off as anything different. “Can I ask you something?” 

Not really. 

“When do you leave the Manor?” Harry’s brow furrowed and he shifted in his seat. “You never leave.” 

“Since when is my comings and goings any of your business?”

“The Healer mentioned I could try walking a little when you leave for a bit.” Harry sighed. “You haven’t left the bloody place in a fortnight.” 

Draco tried, hard, to make sure he didn’t let it slip it was all because of Potter he hadn’t left. Potions to brew left little time to socialise and with the Prophet showing the Malfoy name back into people’s heads, it’d be safer to stay hidden. Until Daphne settled the dispute. 

“If you haven’t gathered, she wants you to be bored stiff and drop her galleons to take you away.” She was a wily one, he gave her that much. So, Slytherin wasn’t too far out of her grasp. 

“Then let’s do it now. I’m sick of sitting around.”

“Wait for Ms. Goven.”

“No.” What a terribly whining thing to say. “You need a break and I doubt you’ll pass up the opportunity to laugh at me.” 

The joke, if it was one, fell, much like the arachnid fangs did in the cauldrons.

“Is that how you see me?” Strange. Emotions were strange and difficult for Harry’s words didn’t hurt. No lashing of the heart or flinch at how he came across towards others. What Draco did feel was clued-in to everyone else, whose gaze met his eye but never for very long and swept over and dismissed him at every step. “Not as a Death Eater but someone who’ll laugh at others’ misfortunes because I’m not fit for much else?”

Granted, Draco was no philanthropist. He spent more money on himself and Scorpius than most families would ever see in generations. His father lacked much interest in the same people - those outside the family or under his responsibility to pamper. Galleons weren’t hamfisted into peoples’ hands for a quick and shallow show of change. He hid his gifts in a slew of accounting nightmares. 

No one would accept his gift anyway, so Draco did what was necessary. Guilt or a new found compassion: Draco wasn’t sure which goaded him to throw his money around. He could. So he did. 

Maybe it wasn’t the War but how Astoria kept her compassion whilst the world went to shit. Maybe it wasn’t but how being a father made him strive for a better, kinder world. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Draco Malfoy wanted to carve out a minute whisper in the world, that he wasn’t a cruel unfeeling man. He most definitely wasn’t cruel. Petty, certainly. Dogmatic and pompous but not cackling like his Aunt at a tortured, sobbing Hermione. 

Right. Potions. Cauldron One was smoking, purple swirls that jumped over the others before dissipating. Cauldron Two and Three were quiet. What was the difference in recipe? Ah, more thorns less fang of arachnid. 

“Every Healer I’ve ever come across either treats me like I’m indestructible and I should deal with it or I’m made of glass and I’m not allowed to take any risks. Laughing at me would be an improvement.”

Potter was annoyingly naive at times. Did he really not see why? Even he, Draco Malfoy, someone who had already had Potter stand up and say to everyone else he wasn’t actually a Death Eater still made sure not to be seen near him. Just in case any disaster was blamed on his presence near him.

“Of course not, you’re Harry Potter vanquisher of Voldemort. Can you imagine what a Healer would do if you died under their care? And laughing at you - even if you are a menace to all order - I wouldn’t waste my time doing so over you being unable to walk. That’s not...”

“I suppose your humour’s more… sparkly badges and singing demoralising chants and dressing up as Creatures of--”

The reminiscing about Hogwarts, Harry, Hermione and Ron was uncomfortable. In such that Draco did find some of them hilarious still - Ron using his broken wand to try and cast spells and how awfully sore that punch was from Hermione - to the more uncomfortable knowledge of how much effort he’d put into those bloody badges.

Merlin, he was so glad Pansy never spoke up about those. He’d actually not slept well the night before, not because he handmade them - that was for the elves to do - but because he couldn’t stop howling at the expectation of what Potter would do once he saw them. 

Merlin, what a little shithead he was. What an embarrassing little shithead he was.

“Do shut up, you’re distracting me.” Cauldron Two sparked, caught onto Cauldron One and its sweep of purple and exploded into tiny red crumbs that glittered and hovered in the air with no urgency to drop. Draco gave it an extra stir clockwise.

“I can be even more distracting.” 

His thoughts stuttered. This pattern. Draco would fall for the bait, be dragged along and end up doing whatever it was Potter wanted and Draco would be red in the face and furious over losing. 

“I don’t doubt it.” And the other half was more aware of the dye that was once on Harry’s fingers was now spread over his cheek and brow, evidence of a scratch hidden under the dull green.

Harry had no idea, did he? Keeping the amusement under wraps, Draco managed to level a smirk. And Harry went back to fidgeting and again, the muscles in his jaw twitched and Draco didn’t dare look away because Harry was sitting there - with his ridiculous hair splayed about in the air and lines across his face as if he’d taken too keen an interest in a devil plant snare. 

That - that was funny. No mirror or reflective surface was in the laboratory, not including the water itself but with Cauldron One, Two and Three their surfaces were disturbed and Potter wouldn’t see a thing about his new fashion choices. 

“What?” Harry rubbed at his neck, readjusted his glasses and did his best - bless him - to look nonplussed and Draco snorted, holding back another laugh. Harry had just smeared more over the bridge of his nose, over the curve of his brow and over neck. No, Draco wouldn’t tell him. 

Not yet, anyway.

“I’ll help, once these Cauldrons don’t need to be attended to; fifteen minutes give or take.”

Harry knew - Draco knew he knew - detrimental or not - but not what - Draco was hiding something from him. Fifteen minutes should help dry those stains in pretty well and give time for Harry to add in more. 

Fifteen minutes passed and it was delightful to add Harry had now a hilarious collection of green on his face. Stasis spells were useful but Draco did not want to subject either of his potions to the slight increase in temperature once the spell was removed. He simply stirred all while Harry huffed, not understanding why Draco’s mood lifted.

Awkward wasn’t the word. Unaccustomed might fit better as Draco’s wife was content to be swept literally off her feet and into his arms, he doubted Potter would appreciate the act. Harry was trying to walk not simply move rooms - anyone who Draco held any affection for was lucky, absolutely lucky, honestly because he was Draco Malfoy and he was the head of the Malfiy name and wouldn’t do such a thing for just anyone.

“I’m going to walk up the stairs.” Harry spoke in the manner he always did. Confident, so self-assured Draco was expecting him to march, healed and have no trouble. What he got was a shaking-limbed man, much that reminded Draco of a newborn owl which couldn’t stand, but flailed their wings and fell over unable to hold their own weight. 

Harry clamped his hands over the counter-top of the laboratory and Draco stood by him waiting for the fall. The veins raised on Harry’s forearms and temple, his face turning a shade of red and Draco held out an arm as if he was going to side along with Potter.

“I don’t think either of us want to see you crawl up the stairs.” 

“I’m going to walk up the stairs.” Harry gritted his teeth. Again, Draco wondered how Harry could lie so poorly and yet for those words to hold any meaning - they did and Draco believed him.

It was a slow process. Harry was placed back on a seat before he tired himself out too much. One step at a time. Each step came with the lab chair following obediently behind him. Sometimes, Harry would try and slip off his chair but stay perched, and would stare at the floor in preparation and Draco had stopped asking if this was enough, if Harry was tired. 

Harry made it across the room and Draco was a little giddy over it all. So, Harry was recovering. He just wished the magic aspect wasn’t such a mystery. 

It was too much too soon though and Draco saw the moment he pushed himself too hard. A valiant effort to step back and sit down but in that moment his legs were trembling mess and buckled. Outstretching, Harry had grabbed both onto the unmovable wall and Draco’s arm.

“Let’s leave the stairs for later,” Draco muttered, not wishing to cut the enthusiasm and willpower Harry had shown too much. Impressive was the word that came to him. Stubborn too. 

His breathing was laboured and the words seemed to stick in his throat. “I can do it.” Trying again to gain his balance, Harry failed to push Draco away. He wasn’t strong enough. Sighing at the sight, Harry Potter a mess of sweat and green lines and spots, Draco eased him back into the seat. 

“You don’t have to do this all in one go.”

Whatever issue was pushing Potter to move faster, heal quicker dimmed then. Draco pinpointed how the very allowance of that idea permeated and trickled down from an insulted indignation to sheer relief. 

Harry sighed too, mumbled a thanks and Draco returned to levitating the chair with Potter on it. 

They returned to the potions which were still going strong. Draco also conjured a mirror right there and then and showed Harry’s his face. He slipped it towards him, this little ornate mirror and Harry’s eyes may as well have fallen from their sockets. 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! You could have--” Harry stumbled over his words, and Draco laughed loud and hard, his stomach cramping. His face was priceless, part shocked, part embarrassed, a touch of anger and just a hint of confusion. 

Draco’s laughter started to hurt and he could barely make out why, “You look like a troll sneezed on you!”

Harry just wiped at his face, more lines of green trailing behind his fingers. It was then, the sharp expression of Potter gearing up for revenge made Draco step away. 

“Is that really wise, I have free range on my magic,” Draco said as he took calming breaths.

“You’re right.” Harry slumped in his seat, a small sigh escaping his lips - the bottom wore a thumbed green line and Draco was too distracted as Potter launched himself out of the chair. Before Harry hadn’t fell to the floor, but it was a near thing now, as Draco stumbled to keep himself upright from the colliding weight.

“Don’t worry. You’re a Slytherin, you look good in green.”

Time was not stretched, slowed or stopped for long enough for Draco to come up with both a witty retort or a reason why several - weird - other reactions occurred all at the same time. The dye was not wet or gooey but it was a residue, sticky and Harry’s hands clammy. It wasn’t a dig with the nails, despite cut short and neat, but Harry’s fingers and both hands played too much a part on how Draco’s brain overloaded.

For an act of friendship he’d played out a hug and regretted it. Having anything smeared onto his face was a horrifying idea (he was a Malfoy, he had standards). And it was truly horrifying because Harry was up in his face and triumphant and Draco knew then his threat hadn’t worked.

He struggled only momentary, kept the wrists of a weak Harry under control, trying not to hurt him, and away from his face. But it didn’t matter because when Harry Potter wanted to do anything not much stopped him (other than moral high grounds). 

Harry’s face was by large too close and before Draco could do anything, Harry rubbed his cheek against Draco in a way, reminded him of a fond cat.

And Draco could feel it. Not just the plant green that was no doubt on his face, but the heat of his skin against Harry’s. His breath in his ear that tingled down his neck and down his back, the weight of him lulling against him - he’d fall otherwise - and Draco froze when a hand went into his hair - the sound of footsteps were deafening.

“Sorry to interrupt but it is medicine time for Harry.”

Breathless and trying to ignore the reappearance of Siobhan, Draco tried to wipe away the sensation replaying on his skin. 

That was weird part. Medicine time. Pain relief that all three of them knew Harry was receiving and yet… Siobhan always left the room and Harry always followed and always, Harry pushed Draco away. 

It was infuriating really, knowing someone was keeping a secret. Why? What was it? Did it involve him? Why couldn’t he know? Draco didn’t want another week, another fortnight of this paranoia. 

“Right, well. I’ll be back tomorrow, around noon. Don’t bother trying to contact me till after,” Draco instructed Siobhan, ignored the heat in his face - no doubt as green and ridiculous looking as Harry’s. He was going to find out what these two were up to. First he needed to go to the Ministry and write a fake letter. 

“Draco--” Harry said his name and Draco didn’t want Siobhan to hear him say it. Not like that.

He left, fast to wash away the evidence. 

He scrubbed at his skin, upset at himself for losing. His beautiful hair was blotchy green and he raked his hands through it over and over again. For him, physical contact was a family thing, people barely gave him a handshake. What the fuck was that? He scraped his nails against the back of his neck, wanting the memory of such a ridiculous, stupid (bloody Harry Potter) way of cheating out of his system. Fresh memories don’t leave so soon and Draco dragged himself from his room, face and hair washed but still feeling off-kilter. 

“Lotty! I have a mission for you, of the utmost importance.” 

House elves were always a joy to give orders to since they revelled in helping and aiding the family they own their loyalty. Despite Hermione and Draco’s opposing opinion on what the house elves position in society truly was they both agreed on treatment. Draco just wanted the elves to stay and continue to help in-house. Paying them was a bizarre idea, one Lotty herself had cried over - believing it a twisted way of Draco trying to abandon her to the rest of the world. 

Draco gave her a Sickle every year, near Yule, to buy herself something - blamed it on it being a necessity than anything else so Lotty took the money. If she hadn’t spent one Knut of it, that wasn’t Draco’s concern. A Galleon was too much and Lotty was beside herself in her refusal. 

Lotty’s eyes were wide and she nodded furiously as Draco explained exactly what was going to happen. She’d tell Harry Potter there was a bird in the Owlery which would only allow him to go near it and read the letter. Lotty would also explain she was making dinner - Siobhan should be forced to go with Potter to help move him. 

The next was simple, just listen in. Not think about how warm--

Draco went into his owl form, stretched his wings wide and flew to the Owlery which sat at the south of the Manor. His family owned only a dozen birds, differing in speed and stamina. The peregrine falcon was the fastest in the world but was awful sending between long distances and so, his own owl - one he’d sent his letters to and fro from mother at Hogwarts sat, proud and fat on one of the many wooden perched littered throughout the room, some levitating.

The Owlery resembled Hogwarts own, small alcoves built into the wall but instead of the cages, they were left unbarred. No one else needed the room but delivery owls and falcons so free reign ran in abundance here. The room was cleaned by Lotty exclusively and it always had a peculiar smell to it as if the fragrances were covering up something a tad musky or wet.

He cooed at the owls who greeted him, each giving a call of territory and warning. His own Eurasian eagle-owl was much larger and tended to cuddle up to him in a way that made Draco wonder if she knew who he was. 

Now, he would just wait.

Was it risky? Yes, of course, it was bloody the riskiest Draco was going near while Potter was in the Manor. Siobhan and Harry however were not entirely trustworthy or honest. Trading in pain potions and Harry reluctant to demand walking help from Siobhan whilst she refused was a curious scenario. What else was going on? Lotty had not raised any alarm. 

So he waited, high up in the Owlery with his own owl sitting next to him and the visiting owl perched next to her. She squatted down, puffing up her feathers and nuzzled at Draco’s beak.

_’I have no treats for you.’_ She shrieked, upset but didn’t fly away. 

Waiting was easy. It was when Harry was carried in, the chair different and more plush and Siobhan followed behind him his nerve started to twinge. The delivery owl from the Ministry flew down to meet Harry, a quickly scrawled note that Draco sent. 

They didn’t talk about anything relating to potions or Harry’s ailments. What they discussed was a strange topic of Draco himself.

Now, not to say being talked about was always a horrid experience. He’d overheard a few conversations in his day from: ‘he’s cute’ to ‘he’s awful’. Nice to know Harry talked about him too. Of course he bloody did.

“I still think you should leave Mr. Malfoy and this Manor. He’s not exactly got the temperament.”

“Neither do you,” Harry snapped and it reminded him of Hogwarts, how he and Harry used to have venom and hate and spite all muddled together because they were exactly what they were taught to hate. 

Hogwarts felt like a lifetime ago. 

“You can’t stay here forever. You have my word, I’ll find discrete people. We can all help you then.” Draco had to wonder if Siobhan had asked for galleons from Harry before coming to him. She was trying to play them both - two payments for one task. He’d keep an eye on any expensive Siobhan’s suggestions.

“I’m not trying to stay here forever.”

“Good. When he finds out, he’s going to throw you out and I will not be held accountable.” Siobhan left in a whirlwind of energy, scowling at the empty portrait pictures that adorned the walls.

“Probably,” Harry said after she left and Draco peered at him, wondering.

Harry stayed where he was for a time. Until another pygmy owl swooped down and he gave him attention. He _Accio_ ’d the owl treats from across the wall without his wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =3= Was worried I wasn't going to get this uploaded today! If it's late, depending on where you are timezone wise, sorry! 
> 
> Still, you'll get to meet Wilks next chapter. You won't like him much.


	20. Mind Games

The treats spelled over caused an uproar in the other owls, some fluttering down to inspect the noisy bag, others clued in on what they saw and descended slower. A few frustrated shrills came from older owls that sat on the arm of Harry’s chair. Draco didn’t move, yet. He hadn’t considered revealing himself, simply hiding in plain sight.

When had Harry’s magic returned? Why was Potter staying here - notwithstanding his Manor was above and beyond the sty of Potter’s abode - was Potter snooping? Using his illness as easy access to check out the infamous Malfoy Manor and its unfathomable secrets as a suspicious Auror?

Harry made several noises, cooing over the soft feathers of each and holding out a fleshy treat which began a flapping and squawking bickering row between the larger birds. The falcon didn’t bother, he stayed high up in his own alcove but kept an eye on Draco.

Perhaps the birds could tell he wasn’t really like them. 

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Harry hadn’t bothered to see to the fake letter which sat on his lap. Some of the larger birds retreated, another flying to fight over the food not yet devoured. 

Three routes of play reared its head. One: Draco could leave and in time reveal to Potter he knew or use it against him. Not the best manner to deal with this kind of lie. Once Draco revealed he knew, then Potter had no reason to speak the truth and ultimately could deny everything and Draco wouldn’t find out why. Why in Merlin’s name was Harry Potter keen to stay in the Malfoy Manor? Did he not trust Draco with so many Dark Artefacts? Or was this more Gryffindor bullshit to try and protect Draco from another attack?

Two: he could shut Harry’s mouth of asking about being an animagus. Unless Harry wanted to talk about why he was lying about his magic, then Draco’s true form was safe too. Not safe like Hermione’s knowledge, no, Draco would never outright speak of this and neither would Potter. Any urgency on Harry’s part might have him spill Draco’s secret and then where would he be?

Third: fly away and never speak about what he heard. Watch and wait to see exactly what Harry wanted by being here. Why should Draco own up to any lies or misgivings? Not when Harry was the one with an ulterior motive. Weighing up the options, it all fell down to how Harry reacted. Anger over Draco lying beforehand or smug over being right in the first place. Smug would be preferred as Harry made poor decisions when riled. 

If the plan didn’t work out, he could argue he wasn’t this owl. It just so happened the same breed arrived to receive a letter of its own. His eyes, well, he might manage to lie his way out of that one; a half-breed or rare pigmentation, whichever Harry would swallow first. But if Harry wanted to stay in the Manor and it seemed it was a necessity for Draco to think him a crippled squib rather than nearly healed. And Draco was happy enough to allow that illusion, so long as Potter knew that was all it was.

Harry didn’t notice him, for he was flying around and watching the last few owls grab some food and return to their alcove nests. He landed shortly after Harry began to read the short and faked letter. So, Draco groomed his feathers, keen to seem like an ordinary owl. He sat for what felt like hours. As the fake message of wishing Harry well was read more than once. Going by how many times Harry struggled to put the damned thing down. Draco heard his old Hogwarts owl call for him and twist her head around as she waited for a reply.

_‘Stay there.’_ Draco wanted her to understand but she fluttered to a nearer stand and like a sentry, eyed Harry before she started nipping at the air whenever Harry moved forward in his seat. Draco hooted for attention. Best hurry this up. 

“Oh, sorry I--” Harry grabbed inside the bag and froze as Draco nipped the cut of meat from his palm, ignoring the guilt rushing over Harry’s face in red hives. “Draco?”

So, he hadn’t managed to convince Harry he wasn’t an animagus at all, if his first conclusion wasn’t just an eerily similar owl. Going straight to believing an owl was an unregistered animagus was not a normal reaction even in the Wizarding World. 

“Draco? Is- is that you?” Wiping his hand onto his trousers, the expected excuses started, “I can’t do much else than levitate or call items, you know?”

Draco was an owl, he was not interested in words or their inflections but the food in Harry’s possession. Right, Draco had to act convincing enough to allow some doubt, some leeway just in case. He jumped over to the opposite arm, gave a curious bob of his head to try and see inside the bag. The Ministry owl made a ruckus and left - the peregrine falcon scaring it off in a series of screams.

“Draco?” Harry didn’t sound convinced but unlike the other attempts, gave a tentative pet Draco on the back of his head.

Well, it wasn’t awful, so Draco allowed it. 

Grabbing another one, Draco was offered again and trying to take this one proved more difficult. Harry moved his hand back, “ _Accio._ perch.” One of the free perches dropped, skidded on the ground and came to an abrupt stop beside him and Draco, as much as he wanted to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything but the food had to wait.

Wait until Harry commanded him to jump up onto the perch. Now, an owl might not understand what they needed to do as Harry kept the treat hovering just near the wood, but would follow the food regardless. Draco didn’t much like the idea he was following Harry’s every whim. But Potter probably knew that too. Fine. He settled onto it, not letting his eyes off the cut of meat. 

“Draco, I know it’s you. Did you forget I’ve seen you like this before?”

Impatient, Draco hissed and tried to grab the food. Harry teased it again.

“Draco, I know it’s you,” Harry repeated it over and over and Draco kept the owl behaviour up. Doubt was a powerful thing and potentially useful. Food orientated and not too bothered over pleasing whoever had the food, Draco nipped at Harry’s fingers if he dared tried to tease him again. If he could snatch it away, then he would. And did. In one last effort to make Potter wake up to what that meant for him, Draco stared at the perch, then back to Harry, then back to the perch. This wasn’t his sharpest moment. 

Figure it out, Potter. Every past Head Auror would cringe at this.

If Harry wanted to pretend his secret of using magic safe, all he had to do was discount Draco in owl form. They wouldn’t need to talk then. Draco could keep his secret and Harry his. But Potter was either acting dumb or Draco had overestimated how sharp Potter was. 

When Harry held onto his wing, he waited not sure what Potter was after. “I just want to check your wings,” he said and Draco watched, in his unblinking owl stare. He was a little insulted, really. His plan benefited both of them, why did Harry have to be so oblivious at times? Harry tried to find the curse mark, the scarred feathers but as he extended Draco’s wings, Harry became confused.

“So… you aren’t Draco?”

Draco folded his wings back and did his best to provide Harry with a scathing expression. What a bloody idiot. How could he be so on point at times and so far away others? Right now, Harry pulled a face that told Draco he might hurt himself with whatever was going on in his head.

“I guess that means you must be his favourite.”

Bloody what? Tilting his head all the way around, seeing Potter from upside down did not help explain what Potter was talking about. Again. 

“Animagus take form depending what’s dear to them, memories and stuff” Harry said as he scratched him at the top of his beak - instinctively, Draco closed his eyes to keep them safe. Astoria’s favourite animal was an owl. (And a sneaking suspicion it was also Potter’s). “So, I guess you’re his favourite owl.” Another scratch, and Draco peeked at Harry under the thick eyelashes of his current form.

Harry wasn’t confused any more but along with that came an observation much like Draco did to new potion ingredients. Maybe he wasn’t so far off the mark as Draco once thought. Unlike the other owls, who made Harry coo and speak words of platitude praise that the birds no doubt found irrelevant, Harry spoke little to Draco.

For a while, Draco considered he’d messed up as he got another pet around the facial disk that surrounded his face, crowned brown and black. Had he forgotten to factor something in which might change or alter Harry’s perception of what Draco was doing? Did he find this too weird? Harry was not raised in a world of magic and his knowledge about old practises were nonexistent at best.

Siobhan returned, two potions in hand and Draco saw how Harry sank back into his chair. 

“Harry, here.” Siobhan handed one over, another pain potion going by the lilac shade. Harry didn’t take it. “You can go back to spoiling the owl in a minute, I need to check your arm.”

Harry used him as a distraction and Draco shifted on the armrest, turning his head around and grooming at the feathers on his neck. Then, Harry regarded him again, as if he was debating on whether Draco was just an owl. Or maybe, maybe he knew Draco was in the room and didn’t want him to hear what Siobhan would say. Offering his arm in a too familiar manner was strange to see. He wasn’t happy over it, that much was clear as he pulled up his sleeve. 

“More of a cat person myself. Sulk all you want but growing a bone is simple. You’ve had to regrow muscle, nerves, tendons, ligaments - everything the leech cut. Why you think that would be painless, I have no idea.” A tut followed which reminded Draco of the times he disappointed his mother in a small way. 

“I’ve had to regrow bones before.” Whether the Healer was used to dealing with difficult patients or had simply had enough of Harry’s near bragging over his injuries she tutted again. She prodded Harry’s arm, from the joint of his elbow down to his wrist. Harry did not flinch when it went over the skin where the scale leech had eaten. Not even when the prod was deep enough to draw blood. 

“Any more pain, spasms, cramps?” Siobhan paid little attention to the hooting Hogwarts owl as she wandered the room and Harry rubbed at his arm, pulled the sleeve back down.

“Cramps, that’s all.” A flurry of attention was on him then, instead of Harry using him as a way to avoid looking at Siobhan and her sharp gaze, Draco was attacked. Attacked was a strong word but he was not prepared for the attention he received. He was playing a part and he had thought Harry knew his own part in this lying charade. Confused. That’s what Draco was now. Harry did know he was Draco, right? Draco flew away to the perch to avoid any more pets or strokes that smooshed up and ruined his feathers and set about fixing them.

Harry laughed. Ah. 

Well played, Potter. Well played. 

“What do you think about Malfoy?” Draco heard Harry ask and he shouldn’t be surprised at the juvenile mindset of Harry. On the other side of the room Siobhan made another noise and Draco stopped setting his wing feathers back to where they should be to watch her.

“What everyone else thinks.”

“And that would be?” Impatient again, Harry really didn’t need the extra dragonblood to be mad in a few seconds, did he? 

“Might be the richest person in Britain. Who really knows, I heard they took a hit as they tried to restore some reputation. Still, nothing to sneeze at.”

Good, Draco preened. His bluffing had worked wonders! They were most likely in the top ten, but nowhere near what the old vaults contained. Although, most of Malfoy’s wealth these days were in the Artefacts and heirlooms, priceless to collectors or academics. 

“Anything not about how much money he has?” Harry huffed and Draco wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t Potter still minted? He held more fortune than Draco did and from what the Prophet and ever interview given Harry never seemed to splurge on expenses. So, why was he annoyed at Draco’s fortune? 

Siobhan shifted before she crossed her arms. “He’s a widow.” Harry was about to speak before she finished her thought, “So he’s probably lonely enough.”

“Lonely enough?”

“Galleon-chasers are a thing, Harry. They marry or play mistress. It’s a little sickening really. How they could live with themselves spending someone else’s money.” Siobhan scrunched up her nose and snarled - not in Draco’s defence, he much assumed someone she knew was similar to the stereotypical galleon-chaser. 

Draco froze on the spot as Harry’s attention turned back to him. What, was he supposed to be surprised at this? Wilks wasn’t the first, doubtful the last. First was Jasmine, then Beatrice, then Dylan -- Wilks was a name in a line of many. A line of many that didn’t matter or care for Draco and in turn cared nothing in return. Some tried to woo him, others Astoria, before Scorpius and after his birth. And when Astoria was gone, those who chanced themselves a soother to a broken heart appeared from the floorboard like woodlice and crawled to Draco as pathetic as each other.

“But eventually, he will probably take on someone else, a convenient lover or marry again. It’s inevitable, he’s only human after all. Even if it’s just some hooker at a two Sickle rate. I’m surprised I haven’t heard him drunk off his face. That’s what a lot of people do when they’re hurting.”

That’s when Draco flinched. Not at the reality of how some people only cared about his Vault or net worth. No, the idea it was only a matter of time before he’d succumb to the Wilks of the world and be duped was the worst. Because when Astoria was no longer on this plane of existence, Draco didn’t feel anything for anyone. Nothing that would ignite any sort of passion or love - everyone was a second cousin, related in some way but unknown. No one, ever, made him so much as want to fuss over them or Merlin forbid it - shag them. Lonely didn’t sound off but it didn’t sound right either.

Now, Draco just had to leave. And leave he did, out of the giant windows. Transforming back outside the Manor’s influence, just so Harry couldn’t tell. After all, if as an owl the Manor did not recognise him as a member that it should listen to, it was doubtful he was shown to Harry, a member of the wards, where he was. 

Draco didn’t say a word, not after a full week of Siobhan trying once again to extract more galleons for her work. Or the second week where Harry’s walking was less newborn animal and more clumsy toddler when he walked too far. Potter was now a resident it seemed here, the guestroom renamed Harry’s Room in Draco’s head, even if he never referenced it to anyone else.

Lotty enjoyed his company as Potter was the only one to compliment her attempts at cooking grander and grander meals. Three adults and a house elf did not need five courses every meal. She was keen for praise and Draco didn’t have the heart to give her his own thoughts on the food. He thought it normal, though clearly was above parr by most others’ standards. 

Potter lacked all table manners, all elbows on tables and scrapping soup spoon on the bottom of the bowl. But Lotty was transfixed and never uttered a complaint. Siobhan rarely ate with Draco and he supposed the times he did not see her, she was resting or resupplying. Galleons were paid in full and she was more pleasant for a time after payday. 

The usual disappearance of Potter and Siobhan occurred every few days. Draco had no intention of listening in again. Secrets were one thing, unforgivable maybe to those whose dalliances were with equals more than not. Draco Malfoy had no equal. His name worth mud, his wealth unwelcomed by those who thought themselves superior. Even Potter’s word hadn’t done much to alleviate the animosity. Yet Draco was well-known in every circle which mattered and expectations were made, either because of that infamy or because he was Draco Malfoy. 

And somehow despite it all, Harry and Draco went to Diagon Alley. They’d Floo’ed to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry still bumping into Draco as they moved through the crowds. Since Harry wasn’t too steady on his feet, Draco ignored it but it didn’t stop. 

“It might be best for me to stay outside, go make good on your promise.” Draco didn’t want to show his face to the apothecary who’d seen him dishevelled and in his nightclothes. Harry did not need any more ammunition to throw his way. So, he stood, quiet and invisible to the passing crowds outside. It was nice, these days to watch people move around and disregard him out of their own busy lives than those days his hair made his presence known in a way, he was sure Potter’s scar did.

What he saw, the children going to Hogwarts eager and giggling over their familiars, two women chatting while their children ran into the Weasley’s store, a couple talking near the Leaky Cauldron and looking mighty annoyed. And then Draco saw the curly blonde hair and the too straight a nose and that almost permanent smirk. Draco cursed under his breath as he looked away.

Bloody Anthony Wilks was here. 

No way had Wilks not noticed him, he’d seen that damned grin and Draco sighed. This was a terrible morning already with his soup being too salty and Lotty sobbing in fervent apologies. Dragging Harry out anywhere was not an easy task. For one, the man didn’t seem to like anywhere in particular, each place Siobhan suggested he’d shot down and any Draco suggested he wasn’t familiar. So, Diagon Alley wasn’t the best place for Harry Potter, ill and weary. Potter was going stir crazy and even Lotty’s reinventing the menu every few days held little appeal. 

Wilks grinned, sided up to him and purred, “Draco, why I didn’t think Diagon Alley was within your purview much these days.” 

“Is there something you want, Wilks?” Draco glanced back to the apothecary and was torn on wanting Harry to hurry up so he could leave and also hoping he wouldn’t reappear until Wilks left. He didn’t want Potter of all people to see some young guy wanting to be bought and treated like a mistress. 

Anthony was a rare two inches taller than Draco. He hated it. Having to look up to a man who all Draco wanted was to look down on him. The smirk was insufferable too. 

“We could grab some Firewhiskey and I could tell you all about it.”

And the arrogance. “Not happening.”

Wilks ran a hand through his hair in a dramatic fashion that did not ease the worry Wilks wouldn’t leave. What if he followed Draco everywhere? What if he decided to question why Harry Potter was running around Diagon Alley with Draco Malfoy. 

Tread carefully.

“The word is you need some votes, I could persuade a few more into whichever side you need.” Wilks loomed over him and Draco struggled not to roll his eyes at the bait. He knew the people Wilks might refer to - other older gentleman with more money and another bored housewife. Together they’d count for three votes, which could easily make or break the current count for Hermione’s legislation.

“And what am I supposed to do for three measly votes?” Draco was listening, if on guard. Hermione might sway those with logic and fairness, though very few of the Twenty Eight actually wished for the latter when dealing with anyone else other than the pureblooded families. 

“Nothing egregious, promise.” The leer said he was lying.

“I don’t believe you.” Draco wasn’t sure how much sway a paid lover could hold over someone else’s political vote. He didn’t think it much. 

“Wait a second.” Wilks grabbed his upper arm and for once, the blasé act dropped. “I’m not exactly being subtle here. I deserve a chance.” If the Fates enjoyed Draco’s misfortune, they loved adding more and more problems onto the heap. The bell over the apothecary rang. 

“Draco, can we go quickly - she’s keeps trying to sell me—” Harry was carrying a bag, overflowing with greens and smelly ingredients, Draco even spied another leather pouch and could take a guess at what she’d given Harry for free. It wasn’t mentally possibly to look at him in the face. Not with Wilks crowding over him. Right, Wilks needed to go. Now. 

He controlled his emotions like every other day he was in the public eye and took a deep breath before unleashing a calm statement seeped in his usual cutting wit. “Wilks, let me be as unsubtle as I can so it settles in that thick skull of yours. You have nothing I want nor need, nothing bores me more than the sound of your voice and nothing pains me more than having my life whittled away each moment you decide to natter on.” 

Harry snorted and the noise itself made Draco feel a little more prepared for this idiot. He wasn’t overstating anything. He wasn’t rambling. 

“You’re a Death Eater, how many people are going to give you the time of day?” Maybe Wilks thought himself a gentleman because he was whispering it in his ear, so Harry couldn’t hear it.

“I’ll take my chances.” Draco yanked his arm back and scowled at the height difference, it bugged him, terribly. And Wilks, whatever kindness he considered before was dead too as he sneered back in a way that was Slytherin Common Room Embarrassment Defences.

“Come find me whenever that cold bed of yours needs some warming.” 

Audiences and acquaintances made every mistake, every flaw and embarrassment seem worse. Anthony spoke in innuendo, crude and outspoken flirtations and cringey pick up lines. Draco experienced each and everything he said several times over, only a few details changing each time. Anthony was not romantic or creative in his wooing. But while every other time Anthony’s words glided over Draco’s head, easily ignored and never provoking or causing discomfort (because Anthony was a gibbon trying to convince people he was a peacock) and as such, looked more ridiculous the more he tried. 

Right now, he had Harry watching. And Draco wanted to go home and never show his face to Potter ever again.

“I’m not desperate.” He felt the need to have that spoken out loud, since Siobhan’s little discussion. Harry was shuffling the bag to another hand, digging around in his robe pockets.

“One night and I could change that.“

Well, his reputation was always tattered near the anniversary of the War, or rather, the Fall of Hogwarts. Most days, Draco would have worked himself up to yell at Wilks. Now, with Harry shifting, looking for a wand he would never find - Siobhan had taken it off him, urging Draco for him not to cast any magic - well, Wilks was like everyone else. They fed on rumour, knew only what the papers and gossips spoke about. Nothing about him, nothing about how Draco would prefer to sit in a quiet room and read or brew potions but how he enjoyed the presence of another person to the point that he usually had Lotty sit nearby. 

So, let’s give the people what they knew, what the wanted. Draco sneered back, his own Slytherin face of Winning the Argument brand and made sure to get into Wilks face, “I’m a Death Eater. Unless you take the Dark Mark, no can do.”

It was visceral and instantaneous. Wilks shoved him away, disgust and revolution on his face. 

It was weird to have a guy shorter than both of them stand in the middle and try to keep the peace. Harry didn't sound like he wanted to keep himself from casting curses. “Back off, leave him alone. You started this.” Harry was in no shape to fight anyone, physically or magically. Thankfully, flirting with a Death Eater made most people flee in case someone else saw and pointed it out. 

“Fuck off. Both of you.” Wilks stalked away. 

Right. Because Draco was so serious about it. But Wilks believed it, no doubt about it. No doubt that the mistake Draco made when he was a kid was still fucking following him. Branded forever, despite the scars silver and barely recognisable, it only took a word for the world to remember. Remember how he’d fucked up and let Hogwarts be overrun - his home away from home - and all in a name he didn’t believe in. And he stood there, rejection never stung these days and he shut up his emotions as fast as he could. An easy way to stop tear ducts was to push his tongue to the roof of his mouth until it hurt.

Harry’s hand was so warm when it grabbed at his, jerking him out of the thought that this was all his life would entail. Lying and bluffing his way around every social interaction. Harry started moving through the noon crowds - those who required to pick someone or something up as a last minute or forgotten chore. Draco was squeezing by people and he couldn’t take it. Everyone was going to see this and--

“What are you doing—!? Potter, everyone—” Harry couldn’t see the people, staring, disgusted and waiting for their chance to say something. They’d spit at him if given the opportunity. In panic, Draco tried to slacken his grip, not flail because that would make a scene - but let his hand be limp enough to pull back in one motion. Harry kept his fingers in such a vice grip, Draco believed him furious. 

“No one’s looking. Come on,” Harry called back, pushed by an older couple and Draco was forced to follow, he only managed to utter an apology before he noticed, they hadn’t bothered to turn around and admonish him for it.

It was then, Draco looked. Not in his mind’s eye of everyone turning stopping what they were doing, staring, watching and judging. The women were still chatting away, kids at their sides showing off their new toys, the couple weren’t there anymore and the tides of people - no one caught his eye. People were just going about their business. And when Draco saw Wilks again, he gripped Harry’s hand tight enough that maybe, just maybe, the paranoia would pass him. 

They pushed by everyone, Harry keeping his head down and charging forward, his bag of forced free goods held like a shield to plough through everyone and Draco being pulled along. If he let go, Draco would apparate back to his house because he wasn't sure he had anywhere else to go. 

“Where are we going—?” Draco asked, but shut his mouth when he felt the frog in his throat and heard his voice wobble. What had Harry even seen? Had he believed his lies too? He didn’t mean it. (He hated the Dark Mark, second only to Voldemort itself).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about 2 hours late on this one. Wee bit longer though? I think? 
> 
> Anyway I know I said the angst was going to be over and it slunk back in there buut~~ I promise the fluff that I will get to will make up for it. Domestic fluff! Like, cuddling spooning fluffs. *All of the fluffs*. (Like fluffy crup and Draco cooing over it fluff and Harry defending Draco fluff, ALL FLUFF, so MUCH FLOOF) so, those who do not like the angst, hang in there! :'D
> 
> I have no words for how long this has taken me - and yes, this is so going over 200K and those on this journey with me, cheers for reading! I'll try and set some more time aside for writing to try and get another few updates up sharpish.


	21. Harry Slips Up

Draco was always told he had cold hands, regardless of the temperature, no matter the blistering summers or the adrenaline after a game of Quidditch. His hands remained cold and they pinched and hurt whenever near cold themselves. Snow was the worst second only to metal, a cauldron left over night in the laboratory. He and Astoria never really held hands, hers uncomfortably cool too, she was happier to cling onto his arm.

Walking hand-in-hand with Harry down Diagon Alley was bizarre. For once, it was easier ignoring the urge to apparate away, trying not to walk up Harry’s heels or lag behind too far that his arm was pulled back. Harry wasn’t heading towards anywhere Draco was accustomed. Diagon Alley and the rare visit to Knockturn Alley was all he visited. As the crowds thinned, and some people did glance their way but whether it was Harry’s fast pace or Draco’s showing indifference no one stopped them. No one flashed a blinding camera bulb or pointed and asked what was going on.

Draco had no idea. Even as Harry started to slip into alleyways and onto other streets, these not much to look at with covered over windows and smashed glass crunching under their shoes. And Draco at times, wanted to drop his hand again because every now and then his other hand - his wedding ring nipped in outrage on his skin - and Draco didn’t know why Harry was still holding his hand. Surely to pull him away from the crowds, but now, Draco hadn’t seen another person in five minutes and still Harry on he went.

That’s when Draco started to worry, Harry hadn’t sat down in a while. Back at the Manor, Harry managed twenty to thirty minutes on his feet before starting to wobble and shake. Siobhan said it was normal, his body was used to so much magic surrounding him and the infection had made him weak. His magic was returning and in equal measure as was his mobility and spellcasting. Wasn’t this too much? Wasn’t this near that thirty minute deadline?

So, he kept checking, glancing at the hand grasping in a grip nearly too tight - but bearable. He wasn’t limping and physically the only difference was Potter marching with his head downcast, his shoulders a little higher as if trying to protect his neck. 

When they rounded yet another corner, another alleyway inside an alleyway, Draco managed a glimpse at Harry’s face. He was flushed, the bag in his arms lopping to one side. The only warning Draco had was Harry’s hand went slack and Harry swayed on his feet before falling and Draco’s stomach dropped with him. Thankfully, he had the clarity to fall backwards and not towards the brickwork or corners of the ghastly houses and shops. Frantically checking to see if Harry was even still conscious - and how Draco would explain him in a rough part of town with an unconscious Harry, he hadn’t a clue - and Harry’s eyes were bleary and Draco eased him to the ground for a moment. The bag’s contents were forgotten as they spilled onto the street. 

“I’ve got you,” Draco soothed him in the only way he knew. Telling Astoria she was fine was a surefire way to have her not fine. So, he just reaffirmed he was there - close at hand and ready to help. He set about checking that he wasn’t going to drop dead any second, was he still breathing? Yes. Was there blood anywhere? No. But Harry started to pull himself back up, trying to use him and the wall behind him as leverage and Draco was livid at the attempts to use him as climbing apparatus. 

“Do you even know what the word restraint means?” Draco caught his arm hoping Harry wouldn’t fall back and smash his head bloody. 

“Help me up, we’re almost there.” Harry struggled again, Draco relenting only a fraction to allow Potter to stand - no way was he marching off again - and he stood with Potter awkward as it was shuffling to his feet and trying to hold himself up with his hands and arms shaking on Draco’s shoulders, Draco’s robe crinkled and bunched under Potter’s hands - bloody Merlin. What even was today?

Draco looked away. It wasn’t really right to have the Saviour of - well his own family look so weak and clinging onto him. And he most certainly wasn’t talking about what happened with Wilks or why he’d allowed Harry to hold his hand for so long. “Where?” he asked, wanting to distance himself from how heavy and weighty Harry was despite being shorter. 

“Just a place.”

“Well thank you, that’s very helpful.” Draco scowled, his wand was in his robes, and he was not able to use wandless levitation magic. Right. Doing tasks the Muggle way was always such a chore. “Right then, let’s hurry this up.” Scanning around the ghastly and unmaintained buildings, Harry’s ‘almost there’ might be down another street. 

They had to shift, more for ease of movement than comfort and Draco ended up with a near dead weight to drag over to the building Harry pointed towards. The windows were boarded up, the tiny garden in its front porch was overgrown and high enough to brush at Draco’s knees. A stink of smoke, something long burnt clung in the air and Draco heaved Harry up with his arm, which was around his neck. It hurt. His muscles cramping and aching at the sudden task.

As soon as Harry stepped onto the landing, the door which sat off its hinges with rot lit up. White and clean and the rest of the doorway took on a new, more appealing atmosphere. It reminded Draco of the foyer of the Ministry, a polished floor of marble and bright clear lighting overhead. The door opened inwards, a small mercy and they hobbled inside, Harry’s strength waning again and Draco tried to tug him back to his feet as he drooped. 

“On the couch.”

So, Draco did, sidestepping in between the coffee table and the armchair set and Harry curled onto his side. He could hear his breathing and Draco calmed down from the panic someone might have seen and took advantage. Over him or over Potter, it didn’t matter much. 

Unbecoming of a Malfoy or not, Draco sat on the low setting table, the possibility Harry needed medical attention not leaving his thoughts. Siobhan should still be at the Manor. Harry’s breathing took a few minutes to level out and Draco was ready, just in case. When Harry tried to sit up, Draco scowled, “Do you know how to do nothing?” Not having the energy to argue, Harry stop trying and lay staring at the ceiling.

This was a little… Draco’s leg bounced on a nerve, and he twirled his wedding ring on his finger.

Awkward.

Why couldn’t Harry have just told him to follow him instead of-- Draco rotated his wedding ring around his finger again-- maybe he had. Draco was sure he hadn’t heard Harry say a word. Maybe. Not so sure, then. Holding his hand was a last resort. And Harry, well, he probably held anyone’s hand. Unlike Draco. Just another difference between them. 

“You really do wear your wedding ring all the time,” Harry said and ended up groaning, his fingers rubbing his temples. His wedding ring was still on too.

“What, trouble in paradise?” Draco snorted, he didn’t like the attention some people gave him over his still worn wedding ring. To him, it was an absurd concept. He shouldn’t wear it because his wife was dead. But he still loved her, still thought of her as his wife no matter how long she’d lay buried. 

In a loud and dramatic sigh, Harry threw his hands down. For a moment, Draco thought Harry about to tantrum and yell. He stayed quiet and sullen and Draco barely heard his reply. 

“Hasn’t been paradise for a long time.”

Right. Different houses. They lived in different houses. That was insensitive more so than the ring comment. “Sorry,” Draco said and left it to hang in the air without anything further to add. 

Harry was starting to feel better. His eyes were starting to see again - no longer those sightless dull eyes that Harry fought to keep from closing. And after another few minutes of him blinking, rolling onto his side Harry broke the silence. 

“It’s an out of commission safe house.” Harry lay on his back. Draco glanced back to the entrance, he shouldn’t be here then. Most definitely not. The mental image of Aurors by the dozens bursting into the room wouldn’t leave his head. Squirming on the couch, Harry was never very good at staying still for very long. “Either it was less pay for the department or this place gets sold. So I bought it up and everyone kept their bonuses.”

“You own it?” 

Was Potter in the property game? The home Ginny lived, that hovel, this place and Grimmauld Place (a fact which made his mother both bitter and eager to never see Harry Potter again despite his help). From what he’d heard, his aunt Andromeda was seen as the house’s Lady now.

“Didn’t seem fair. I used this place once. _Once._ And the higher ups opened it as a safe house because I thought it was a good place. No one else needed it. In a decade, no one else needed it.” Harry laughed, rubbed his face, then his eyes, “First mistake I made and I had to fix it decades later.” 

Then he tried to slink off the couch where Draco had deposited him. Harry turned over, trying to slip down onto the floor in a motion not fit for anyone to make. What did he think he was doing? Harry waved off his concern as he asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, “It’s a blood pressure deal, nothing too--”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Draco was well aware that blood pressure wasn’t a tiny detail. Too low and people’d bleed from every orifice and die. Astoria fainted more often than not on hot days, when her blood curse made it difficult to breathe and cool down. Harry didn’t finish the sentence but sat up, no longer able to keep still. It took all of Draco’s years of keeping everything in not to flinch when Harry bumped his knee as he sat up properly.

He closed his eyes, sighed and waited. Patience wasn’t a fun virtue, but it was one Draco held in abundance. Just like how Draco was quite good at ignoring what was going on around him. 

“Siobhan doesn’t like me drinking near her so I’ve not had one in a while.” It was a poor attempt at conversation and Draco didn’t bother to open his eyes or reply. Harry bumped his knee again and this time it didn’t feel like a mistake. Maybe he was reading too much into things. Clearing his throat Harry kept talking, “There should still be some Firewhiskey in the walls. I hid them there - long story.”

“Please just rest for now.” Draco didn’t snap as much as he wanted. Astoria was never very good at staying in bed and being ill either. Most of the time she did stay, Draco had to ask it as a favour to him and not to her own health. It was infuriating to have to play this game again. It was tiring, draining, caring for someone else so much. Resting his cheek on his hand, he added, “You just had to pick a fight.”

“Wilks shouldn’t have--”

Oh, just stop.

“It’s exhausting watching you act like you aren’t ill.” At least Astoria knew her upper most limits, knew when to excuse herself and rest nearer the end of her life but Harry just kept going and going and Draco had to watch him fall today. Harry Potter falling on the ground because he was too sick to go too long on his feet. Why didn’t Harry keep care of himself more? Sighing, Draco pulled his wand and cast, “ _Accio_ Firewhiskey.” If not for Potter he’d be having a good day.

Leaping out of the wall, a pack flew and sat next to Draco. 

It was an old case of Firewhiskey, some out of date promotion about catching a novelty snitch on the packaging. Six bottles and Draco still didn’t know if this was the wisest of decisions but today was-- too much, really. Wilks dug at an old wound that would most likely never heal. 

Harry didn’t so much as twitch at the taste but as soon as Draco sipped it he might have murdered some taste buds in the process. “This is an affront to taste.” Not even good taste, just taste because this FireWhiskey was just fire, burning everything it touched an leaving it raw and tingling. 

“You don’t drink because of the taste, it’s for the warm fuzzies.”

“I gathered that.” Another few sips had the standard warmth emanating from his gut and then his head was light and fuzzy and Draco found the burn not as harsh by the seventh attempt at drinking this foulness. “This might be the worst thing I’ve ever consumed.” Draco scowled at the bottle for the bite of the drink it carried. 

“Well, I’m apparently a connoisseur of dragonblood so forgive me if I don’t feel much pity. By the way, why an owl?”

No, no, Potter. Did he not understand the rules? They would not discuss it. Ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco gulped more down and Harry didn’t argue. If he wanted to ask stupid questions then so would Draco.

“If you and Ginny are so unhappy why don’t you--”

Divorce was never an option for Draco, for Astoria. For Pansy or Nott. It rose a flag, high, to everyone else that not only did their very spouse find them unworthy but also unlovable enough to leave. Harry could leave Ginny but Draco wasn’t naive enough to think the papers and the people who read those papers wouldn’t take a side. Harry stared at his wedding ring for so long Draco considered the topic closed and out of bounds for the future. 

“It’s for Lily. She’s just finishing up Hogwarts. We don’t want her to have to deal with any… publicity. She can just concentrate on her studies.”

“And after?”

“Nothing would really change. We don’t even sleep in the same house. Kids are all old enough to move on and do their own thing.” Harry gave a wistful sigh, “When did we get so old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco snorted, took another swig of this disgusting beverage. Looking around again he saw the three doors off to other areas of the house - who knew how big this place was - and the Floo hidden off in the corner. It wasn’t decorated by Harry; he’d seen that hovel of a place. 

The second bottle made Draco’s hands feel warm so much so he wrung them together, the bottle resting on the table alongside him. Harry was looking at him again, in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he was used to. In Hogwarts they sneered and prodded each other over trivial little things, what the other was eating or going to do - or any rumours abound. This was more… More more.

Intense, that was the word he was looking for but Draco kept chatting. Even Harry asked some bizarre questions. Like if his Dark Mark was still there and Draco had shown him his arm. His pale complexion was a gift at hiding the silver line, where Voldemort and ripped through with his wand. Once or two Harry rubbed at his neck, and once or twice Draco thought Harry nervous but unsure why. Maybe he realised asking about the worst time in Draco’s life - second only to Astoria’s death - wasn’t the best conversation pieces. The FireWhiskey made it easy to ignore Harry and his constant nudging of his legs, though Draco assumed his own lanky frame wasn’t helping matters. 

Harry started asking about crups and Draco kept his guard up. Why did he need to know what his favourite colour was? He wouldn’t be able to gift him the damned thing anyway, that’s why no one could just go out and buy one. They weren’t cats, Draco had scolded him again. They were magical creatures that were the epitome of what Draco had been raised in. All in all, Draco only managed to let slip one embarrassing fact. He didn’t care what the crup looked like, they were all (‘cute’) good enough.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

“Oh, sorry.” His gaze dropped to his bottle, the label in the midst of being scratched off, “It’s just-- funny, stupid really. So you know you gave every Weasley hell - Ron and Ginny especially - because they had red hair and freckles? You have a freckle on your face.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“I’ll prove it.” Harry was invigorated, happy to prove him wrong. He patted down his pockets until he found whatever it was he was looking for. A small rectangle box made of the non-glass that Muggles seemed fond of and Draco leaned forward to see the box light up - little pictures on it in small squares. It was another Muggle thing wasn’t it? What was with the fascination of rectangles and squares to Muggles? Was it some sort of iconography? Why must everything be a box?

“What is that?” Harry tried his best not to sound patronising to Draco over what this mobile phone was. But Draco wasn’t really sure he understood. He could take ‘calls’, Draco assumed like a Fire Call, and these text messages sounded more like a series of Howlers than anything else. 

“Close your eyes.” Draco blinked. What? “Just for a second.” Not trusting the Muggle contraption fully, Draco closed his eyes with a sulk. “Stop scowling for a second.” Draco opened his eyes as soon as he heard a noise.

“See?”

It was alarming to see himself in a picture that wasn’t moving. Draco was offered the device and he took hold of it with little understanding of why Harry was laughing. Then he saw it. 

“I don’t know what kind of illusion charm you’ve placed on this - whatever this is - but no.” Draco frowned deeply, the picture needed no large bulbous camera that blinded and yet here was a clear picture of him in his own hands. Muggles were terrifying in their innovation. How did the picture not move? Why wasn’t it moving? And just like Harry had said, there sat a single freckle on his eyelid. Taunting him.

Well, how would Draco ever know he had a freckle there. How many people knew what their eyelids looked like? How their friends or family member’s eyelids looked like? Draco sulked but when Harry spoke again he was cautious and…

“No?”

Oh.

Oh, he thought Draco was going to have an existential crisis over this. His family name mud and everything he’d ever been told a lie - that was worth a crisis at the tender age of seventeen to twenty. A freckle was nothing and Potter was watching him as if Draco was going to need all these bottles of FireWhiskey to process it. He was dramatic, yes. But not Blaise-level dramatic. Draco had standards. 

“No.” Draco sniffed, all put on of course. He may as well play a bit, considering Potter was due some revenge on how poor a patient he was and how frayed Draco’s nerves were these days thanks to him. “If I kill you here no one will be the wiser.”

Harry pocketed the phone fast and gave a nervous glance to the Floo in the corner of the room. “So, you’re not taking this very well?”

“I’m supposed to be the epitome of Malfoy heritage. That does not include-- freckles.” 

“It’s just the one?” The attempt to placate him almost killed Draco’s momentum because Harry was quite frankly a bloody idiot to look so worried over another person worrying over a bloody freckle. Whether it was the FireWhiskey or Harry’s lack of awareness, Draco fought to keep his face straight and his voice furious. 

“A disaster is what it is. How can I possibly live with this - this?” 

“You’re--” Draco couldn’t do it any longer. To hold back the laughter, a bubbling aching laughter that cramped at his stomach and his face and Harry slumped forward, another battering of knees together and he heard him sigh in such relief that he laughed too, “I thought you were being serious.” He hid behind his hands again, embarrassed and giddy.

“And here I thought I was going to have to swear myself banished from my inheritance before you clued in.” Draco grinned as he took a victory sip of his FireWhiskey and Harry sat up to do the same, “Slow, Potter, very slow.” And Draco glanced over to the Floo, only to look back and see it. Fast and fleeting and yet replaying in his head clear as if he’d seen the memory in a pensive Draco saw it. Saw how Harry’s eyes went from green, bright and looking at him, to darting down, darkening green eyes and he’d--

Draco knew that look. Pansy and Astoria gave him that look. Wilks had given him that look.

Harry had just thought about kissing him. Harry’s eyes were darker than he’d ever seen them and his stomach flipped and Draco moved.

“The Floo still work?” Draco left his makeshift seat fast. He hadn’t seen that. Nope, no, not a chance had Harry’s brain even suggested the idea about snogging him. It was a lighting trick- despite the lights being full and bright - or an alcohol trick that was why his eyes were so dark - which didn’t explain the fact he’d looked at Draco’s mouth. The urn of Floo powder was nearly out.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, pretty sure.”

How was he supposed to deal with this? Harry was not Wilks or Jasmine, only after his galleons. No, Harry would never dehumanise someone to such an extent. So, so did that mean-- what, Harry wanted Draco because he was him? Now, he was concerned. What had Harry seen or heard that made him interested?

He loved Astoria.

So, Draco took his time letting the sand drain out from between his fingers and hoped the thundering heat on his face would go. He couldn’t process this. He couldn’t-- Was this why Ginny and Harry were no longer in the same house? Did she know? Was this cheating? Did it count if they weren't interested in reconciling? Or was Harry just-- Draco bit his lip quelling the thoughts for a second.

“If you can walk, we can go back.” Harry didn’t answer right away and Draco didn’t turn around because he could feel it again, Potter’s Gaze and the prickling hairs at his neck. 

People weren't interested in Draco, they were interested in Malfoy. Nothing from any previous encounters of those who had flirted and made their intentions clear ever made this make sense. Where was Harry's endless sea of compliments and ego-bolstering comments, or boasting about feats that Draco thought bogus? Where was the questions about his money? Why had Harry asked about the Mark instead, like everyone else, ignoring it as if it was the dirty secret they would allow him? Where was his nattering that begged to be liked and happy to side only as a substitute to his dead wife?

Was Harry Potter serious?

How long? How long had he missed this? How long had Potter even--?

“Okay, let’s go.” Harry staggered and this time, Draco made no attempt to help as they stood in the Floo. Draco clenched tight onto a fistful of Floo powder.

Again, Harry bumped his shoulder into him. Now, reassessing, Draco looked down at Harry’s shoes, watched him in his peripheral view and saw no swaying or lack of balance. So he was doing this all on purpose? Since when? Had Harry genuinely been thinking--

Draco released the power in his hands and spoke, “Malfoy Manor.” He abandoned Harry at the Floo, needing time to think. At which point had Harry thought about kissing him? Was this just a misunderstanding? No, Draco knew that look, knew it well enough to recognise it but-- But that meant--

Lotty informed him of two letters waiting for him in the Owlery. Good. A reason to flee.

The letter had Hermione’s stamp, official mail from the Minister herself. Draco read it where he stood. That was before hearing Harry calling his name and so he left to the sitting room. 

‘Draco, I need you to find a venue which can hold the annual Association for Overlooked Justice, Rembrandt has been ‘unfortunate’ in his help to locate one within the time frame and no doubt will be of no help in any means worthy. For one evening and possibly into the night. In a week today. Formal event. Sorry for the short notice but I suspect this is another ploy to make me look incompetent. PS: How is your guest? I hope he is doing better. Sadly this setback has had a domino effect on my time. Tell him hi for me.’

Draco set it aside and checked the other, its sender clear. Parchment was dyed and frilled near its edges, a trend outdated but one Daphne had never outgrown. Daphne’s was short. One word: ‘Tomorrow’, written in her swirly handwriting that was also too small for some to read. 

A few places might suit Hermione’s needs. But only one suited Draco’s. Here. Many tales of torture and pain were told about the Malfoy Manor and while he had no intention to make Hermione walk over the floor she was tortured on. Although he would bet the garden with its fancy peacocks and mazes and the ballroom which was large enough to host many hundreds of dancing wizards and witches would do more than a prim empty office somewhere else. 

It might also lay to rest some of the rumours about how the Manor was evil in itself. Not many people realised the place was beautiful in its architecture and atmosphere. These days it didn’t have Voldemort etching his Dark Magic into the wood and bricks, turning the house sick with a cruel streak. No, if Hermione wanted somewhere he would happily give her another. The request was obvious in who it would favour. So he wrote slow, wondering if it was unfair to ask Hermione to give him more leeway, more public support. 

‘If acceptable, you can have the Manor for the allotted time. The gardens along with the adjacent ballroom should wow your Justice piffle that thinks so little of you. Lotty will cook and make the place in whatever presentable terms you have but will not greet guests. Do find someone more hospitable than either of us to do that job.’

Draco wouldn’t accept this either. He heard Harry before he saw him. In a last ditch attempt at harbouring more reputation, more positive than most, he added at the end:

‘Having it here will also allow him to make an appearance with no need to worry. If he doesn’t attend then it might send the wrong message. Siobhan Goven, the Healer will low-key attend and make sure he doesn’t push his limits and will remove him to his room when he is tired or has had enough. If unacceptable, I will find somewhere else.’

Closing it up and handing the letter to the Ministry owl, overworked and underappreciated, Draco watched it fly off on beige wings. He waited for a reply in his now perfectly filled sitting room, reassembled from the shreds and destruction of Potter’s magic. Lotty had done another wonderful job and Draco wasn’t sure he thanked her for it. She was not so great at taking compliments or gratitude from anyone much less the family she was working for. 

Draco moved around to avoid Harry. Siobhan noticed and made a comment which Draco ignored by then avoiding her for the rest of the day.

What exactly was he supposed to do with the information Harry might want to get off with him right there and then in a house no one knew existed. Why? How? Draco hadn’t heard Harry being interested in men. Only the names of girls back in Hogwarts made their way through the gossip mills and managed to be overheard by a Slytherin. What was more likely was Harry had mistaken Draco’s care for romantic affection. 

Healers had a great deal of trouble, Draco had heard. About those wizards and witches that were smitten at the idea of a Healer using physical contact - leviosa not a viable option - and how they were mistaken. It was not in any manner affectionate. But smitten they were. Harry was mistaken. Why hadn’t Siobhan been the target of this then? She was the primary carer here, not Draco. 

He’d ask Harry later in the week to attend. With Ginny included in the invitation. Losing a wife wasn’t worth whatever little… fleeting fancy Potter seemed to have tricked himself into. Seeing Ginny again all dolled up might help remind him he didn’t need to divorce her. He was just confused.

Speaking of clothing, he wasn’t sure he even had anything that would fit without extensive work. Too old, last season, he might need to venture out and buy another suit. Did Harry have one? Best ask sooner then, so as not to blindside him and Draco's plan ruined before it was out the planning stages. 

Harry was with Siobhan and the owls and there it sat again, the stressed Ministry owl. He ignored the hello from Harry, the greetings from Siobhan and stalked off with the letter unopened. They both knew what a Ministry seal looked like and neither had yet to ask - they would eventually. Whatever Hermione sent was more than words, as the letter was heavy and Draco could hear something move inside it.

Pray she hadn’t put a jinx on this. He was pretty sure Edgecombe still wore a face of scars for her betrayal back in Hogwarts. What was inside wasn’t a vicious curse but a series of cards. Blue like the colour of a bright afternoon sky, silver that was brighter than Draco’s eyes and a darker grey that lacked much appeal. On the flip-side of each was a word or two. 

‘Very well. The garden and the ballroom only. The colour scheme is enclosed. 50 guests but I expect most will bring plus-ones. Thank you that’s a good idea. Don’t use him as a bargaining chip again.’

Hermione had really mastered the art of sounding threatening without being here. He smirked, knowing if he was too upbeat he'd be questioned on it. Right, he would have to find Lotty and Harry. Harry first. This would be the easiest and smoothest way to segway into the invitation for Harry to invite his wife. Both of them were still with the owls - most which had left to hunt. The little pygmy owl was nuzzling into his hands and being fed. Siobhan was looking out the window, arms crossed. 

“Hermione says hello.” Draco started and was a little thrown when Harry looked at him as if he’d grown another head. 

“You--” Harry looked him up and down.

Right. Forget talking to Harry. 

“You're very cheery today, Mr. Malfoy, a notable, pleasant change.” Siobhan supplied in a more eloquent manner with a smile. Well, it made sense Draco was pleased. He hadn't had a party here in forever. He loved them before the War and hadn't had the opportunity to host since his wedding reception.

“Lotty!” The elf appeared and Draco squatted down to look at her, ignoring Potter entirely. “Do you remember when you were told no more parties? No more batches of food? No more making pretty?” Lotty sulked and pulled on her ears, she probably suspected she was going to be given into trouble. 

“Yes, Master Malfoy. Lotty remembers.” 

“Well, take these and do make the Manor look pretty for our fifty-something guests. Might even be a hundred here. It’s the ballroom and the garden only, so no entries everywhere else. Human fancy, like the old times.”

Lotty looked up at him, eyes popping and she squealed, “Guests? In the Manor? A party? Lotty gets to make a party again?” 

“Can you do that?” Draco offered the coloured cards and waited. She snatched them away faster than a man could blink and clung onto them, tight into her chest as if they were the most precious things in the world.

“Yes, yes, Lotty will make everyone jealous of the Malfoy Manor!”

“Can’t wait. You've a week to do your absolute best.” He always did like Lotty’s enthusiasm. She left, humming loudly to herself. 

“There’s going to be a party? Here?” Harry sounded just a little panicked at that. Draco wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t as if it would be difficult to hide Harry once he was too tired. 

“Yes, send a letter to Ginny. You’ll both need formal attire.” He moved on fast, hoping to have as little contact with Harry as possible until after the party. So, Siobhan was next. “I expect you to attend too. Paid extra if you manage to keep the reason why you’re here out of the air.” He offered her galleons, as he expected the Healer had used more funds to just purchase new ingredients. She took them, though seemed a little annoyed at the ten galleons he'd fished from his pocket.

“Isn’t the party in a week?” Harry shifted around, anxious and maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned Ginny. 

“You’ve never hosted one in your life, have you?”

While his mother and father hosted, months in advance with guest lists finely tuned for tastes and likes to coo and schmooze Draco was scarcely unprepared. First he’d need to visit the tailor, most of his old robes were too large. Then a letter again to Hermione asking for the names and everything she had on them. A party was a time to relax and drink, chat and flirt. Not these monstrous events, where Draco would need to greet everyone and not having an edge to chit-chat would make him an awkward and lousy host. He needed to make sure everyone was at ease long enough for Hermione to say her piece. 

People at ease in Malfoy Manor with Draco Malfoy. He could do it. Weirder things had happened. Draco glanced back at Harry who was pouting and he hadn't a clue how to handle the possibility Harry Potter wanted - what, a fling? A quick snog because he was lonely because his wife wasn't on best terms? He didn't get it. Today though, he'd spend the rest of it set about avoiding Harry and hiding the Dark Artefacts away just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My assumption was I'd get to the party at the 20 chapter mark and so my guesstimate I don't think is too far off the 40 chapter mark? Maybe 45.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading and wow, that's a lotta kudos, thank you! <3
> 
> And, next chapter has so much going on? Urgh it's gonna be so much fun to write! It'll be a monster chapter. (Spoiler/Hint: Harry isn't so subtle now).


	22. The Party (Part I)

Goblins never did apologise or speak about their absence in the War with Voldemort. They were called out but when permission for Vaults were declined, people stopped bringing it up. Draco on the other hand knew how to treat a goblin, his father had one thing right about his view and that was they liked money. Not just handling it but earning it in as efficient way as possible and as a Wizard who had more than enough money, his tailor was a goblin which greeted him nicer than any other Witch or Wizard did most days. 

“Draco Malfoy! What can I get you?” Agnar was an old, white-haired, with long bony fingers even by goblin standards. 

“Evening wear. A rush job, if you will, I’ll happily pay double if it can be done.”

If was the key word. Ordering Agnar to make a suit or a robe would put him on the lowest priority. Asking in such a way implied if he said no Draco’s business would go elsewhere. It also might infer there was someone better and Agnar loathed that one more than a late payment.

Agnar peered down his long crooked nose for a second before grumbling to himself, “You were a little on the thin side last time, weren’t you? What colour?” The Goblin was probably correct, he usually ate once a day, twice rarely on his own after Astoria was gone. The recent months, with Harry and Siobhan in his home made him feel as if he should thank them. He wasn’t so much skin and bone, eating only to stop the cramps or brain fog that stopped his brewing.

“Blue or a dark grey or silver--”

“Black it is. Those colours won’t do anything for you.” Black was standard typically only the men wore that colour to parties. He remembered his father using the same suit for years while his mother seemed to appear at each party with a new dress for that occasion. “I’ll have it sent by owl. Make sure to not open the box near those filthy creatures. I wouldn’t think you would, Mr. Malfoy but the people here sometimes.”

“Stay still for the fitting,” said Agnar in his typical gruff voice while he pulled out his wand.

A lot of flying measuring tapes and automagical quills writing down the length and breadth and at last, Agnar waved him to go. “I have what I need from you, Mr Malfoy. Not quite the skeleton these days. Still a little too thin. Do return the owl with the rest,” he said as Draco put down his deposit - five galleons and left with apparation.

His second target was picking up the papers for today, instead of waiting around for Daphne or Blaise to arrive showing off the work the Greengrasses did - he went and picked up one of each. Ignoring the sneer from the older man at the till and the smile from the younger. He went home to read them in private, Harry and Siobhan were taking the day along with Ginny to work out how they could sneak him in and out of the party without people being suspicious. They should also buy their clothing too. They better not think to use some already worn affair to his hosted party.

It was quite impressive what Daphne had achieved going by the front page of every newspaper which rivalled the Daily Prophet. His stomach fluttered when he saw The Quibbler too, taking another stance against what they’d written about him and Astoria. Each and every paper, eight in total had first page news, slating the Daily Prophet in some way. 

From non-specific titles, ‘Paper Defaces Dead Witch’ to, ‘Daphne: the lies of the Prophet’, and ‘Greengrasses victims of gossip’, and The Quibbler itself simply had: ‘Astoria Malfoy Died Beloved’. It was surreal to think so many people came from other families which wanted to stand against the usual nonsense of the Prophet. Finch even seemed to have made an appearance, saying Astoria was the happiest person he’d ever met. They weren’t talking about Draco and for once, he preferred it. Having his name brought up would murk the message. 

This was nice timing too with only a week - six days now, to the party, it might give some others a change of heart and come along even if it was just to snoop at where Astoria Malfoy lived.

He didn’t need the papers any more and left to deal with the biggest issue he would face. People he didn’t know. They’d be here, in his house and he’d have to make them happy and comfortable enough for them to listen and hear what Hermione said. The only way he knew how to do that was what he was taught. A guest list was expected at five, Hermione claiming there were a few problematic people who hadn’t said if they were bringing someone else or not. 

Then food and decoration was in the hands of a single house elf and as much as Draco trusted Lotty, he was not sure what to suggest for the food portion of the night. Were they having a meal here? A buffet? Several courses and not doing any standing around and chatting? He needed more details while Lotty started to fill the ballroom with long candles and put them high up near the ceiling, 

And when Hermione’s guest list arrived, it came through the opened Floo. A swarm of files flying on through. They stacked themselves high up on the nearest table; how neat and polite of them. What Hermione had sent was a mass of information on the most prolific organisations. He would need to comb through each the guest list and the organisation member list to have any understanding on those guests who he’d never so much as met once.

He didn’t ignore his other responsibilities. While potions boiled and brewed, Draco studied harder than Lotty liked. Agnar might scold him again if he arrived dropping any weight and begrudgingly he nibbled at scones and sipped sweet, sugar filled tea. Harry did not help in that he tried to help.

Draco’s avoidance was clear by day three to everyone and so Harry, as much as Draco called him an idiot was imaginative and ever stubborn in his attempts at starting a conversation. Lotty made the meals and Potter brought them. How he’d wrangled Lotty out of one of her duties was a mystery. One which as Draco reread the list on agenda of what the Powerful Potion Prospects Group entailed, he decided he didn’t need to know right this instant.

Freshly baked pastry filled the air and Draco resisted the urge to stop what he was doing and look at the divine meal which branded itself into his head and made his mouth water. That was what Harry was expecting, for him to pause in his work and have no excuse. 

“Lotty said you didn’t take breakfast.”

The plates clinked together as the tray was placed down next to the stack of paper. Now in two categories of read and unread. The unread pile was still taller. Draco knew then Harry wouldn’t take silence as an answer as he stood, unmoving and stubborn. 

“I’m busy, unless you need those eyes checked.” Instead of taking that as a cue to leave, Harry sat down. Draco bit his lip and refused to look up. No, Harry wasn’t winning this. 

“I can help. It’s not like you have to do this all on your own.” 

Draco wasn’t prepared for the mockery which erupted from his own throat, “Of course, you can’t possibly rely on the resident Death Eater to check some information. Do you think I’m doing this because I enjoy it? This is a necessity, Potter not homework I can afford to flunk.”

“Missing breakfast won’t help.” Harry was frowning, probably expecting his gracious offer to be returned not shot down. Draco didn’t even need to look, not when his voice tightened and it was clear that the dismissal had hurt, if just a little, “Fine. I’ll leave. Just promise to eat—”

Draco didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence because he knew it off by heart. And his stomach flipped at the memory.

‘Just have a bite,’ she’d say, ‘promise me you’ll get something soon,’ and then Draco would grumble an apology and he’d follow her and eat his fill and Astoria was pleased. Too pleased, sometimes, over Draco just doing what was necessary. Apparently as much as Draco could do a few tasks side by side he did so at the expense of his own health. An obsessive tic that might have followed him through Hogwarts. 

“Go.” Draco left no room for argument, no squabbling because he was too uncomfortable to contemplate what was running through Harry’s head. Focusing on the party was priority. 

As Harry left, heavy and downcast Draco stopped working and glared at the divine pastry - fluffy and golden, swirls of heat in the air - and Draco rubbed at his jaw. His concentration ruined. 

Returning the tray and the food upon it to Lotty would upset her, damned Harry was no doubt aware. Well, he supposed eating wasn’t the victory in itself. Forcing Harry to leave didn’t feel like the usual win but he’d take it. He had no time to brew Harry’s medicine, learn what he needed and consider Harry’s affections. It was all very… 

Weird. Draco drummed his fingers on the table, glaring at his food. 

Because Harry and Astoria were too different and yet they’d fallen into the same trap of worrying over his eating habits. Even their temperaments were night and day, sun and moon: Astoria was a woman of great calm, easing the worrisome world surrounding them. Potter trail-blazed into firing lines - not quite literally any more - but he’d done it again and again. All while the most courageous thing Astoria had witnessed him was standing up to his parents and demanding they accept their engagement. Potter had seen him lie, out of omission, that time in the Manor. Draco Malfoy was not a brave man by any means. 

Harry could not compete with his dead wife and in the same vein, Draco would not compete with Ginny. Draco was sure Potter also still adored Ginny in some way, why else would he look heartbroken at her rushing away, abandoning him? Harry needed a reminder on why Ginny was his wife for so long. Whether it was the crude manner beforehand, Harry never returned with a tray or invited himself to sit down. What he did do was appear and disappear with the aforementioned scones and tea, occasionally, provoking him to eat a bit more and leaving soon after. An apology would set the clock back, Harry would sit and chat if Draco only said sorry. Draco for that reason did not.

And on the last day, Harry nowhere in sight Draco found it dangerous his expectations now grew too. No matter how many times Draco heard or felt movement around the Manor - and it told him where roughly everyone was, Lotty in the ballroom and the other two together on the first floor. Draco wondered if he wasn’t going to be brought anything today. The absence was starting to make him wonder. Was one week of avoidance too much for Harry?

When the words of the last file was read Draco closed his eyes and covered them with his hands despite the darkness at such a late hour. He wasn’t sure how much of these jitters were because of the lack of sleep and food or because the party was drawing closer. Was he prepared enough? Bloody yes but no matter what he learned, it was entirely depending on the people and their disposition towards his family name. Everyone knew of the Malfoys.

Dinnertime was twenty minutes late and Draco scowled the idea Potter gave up so easily. What was he expecting? What did he want? He slumped in his chair not enjoying the looming anxiety over everything not being enough. Sometimes, Draco offered several times the amount anyone was asking and was still rejected. Knowing interests might help a conversation, knowing which agenda someone bought into was better. It helped ease out problematic allies, especially where Hermione was concerned. She didn’t take bribes.

If someone decided Draco Malfoy wasn’t enough, well. They were stupid. Idiotic and not worth Draco’s time. Draco sighed, loud on his own with no one else near. Despite it all, he wanted the party to arrive already, have everything checked and double checked so he could stop trying to guess at what would happen, what could go wrong. Only when Draco opened his eyes again did he realise he’d dozed off for a moment. He smelt pastry again. What time was it now? As Draco shifted, he scowled at the garment over him. Not a robe, not nearly anything like a robe. He examined it, the material alien and bizarre - how was this supposed to protect anyone from thunderstorms or rampaging pixies? 

Folding it, awkward and unknowing what exactly he should do - did he return this? He’d leave it here. The room was darker now, only able to make out the whites and several greys of the room itself, black blots being the door and this Muggle robe-not-robe. On his table sat his dinner, no note, no indication of who it was from and it was clear it was from Harry. 

Who else would do this? This was a Muggle thing - Siobhan would just cast a charm if so inclined and Lotty wouldn’t have dared put such a flimsy garment over him. He sat in the dark for a time, thinking. Harry hadn’t chosen to awaken him, show off his attentive details and show off his affections. Not like all the Wilks and Jasmines of the world, who Draco was used to bragging about how much they could care. But unlike them, Harry only had reputation and credit to lose. Nothing Draco Malfoy had done in recent years ever said Harry would benefit from it. 

It sat there, warmed by a charm. One lesson the War brought Draco was he was not to expect affection from others so easily again. Complimenting idiots became the sneering ones, the galleon-chasers were more obvious in their pursuits and Draco hadn’t realised how much he had missed. When was the last time Lotty made him food and kept it warm for him? She’d much more likely recook an entire meal instead of using magic. She’d never do this either. Harry was a little too much like how Draco’s tea had been the last few days. 

And that’s when it really dawned on him. An avalanche of what ifs: what if Potter had kissed him back then, in his hidden away house, what if Harry didn’t even realise he was doing this; what if Harry really was-- and Draco frowned, awkward at the idea Harry might be more than having a crush on him -- but honestly, did he think Draco would return those affections? What if he did? What if that was when Harry realised he’d been wrong, what if that was when he returned to Ginny.

What was he going to do?

He wasn't going to think any more on this, on Potter - or what a kiss from him back then would--

“ _Lumos_ ,” Draco whispered and a blinding light spawned on the end of his wand. Another delicious meal, delivered right to his desk. He dragged himself to bed, leaving the Muggle garment behind in the office with the empty plates. 

That night he had a dream about Astoria again. Visiting Diagon Alley, busier than Draco had ever seen it, and in the confusion Draco tried to find somewhere to stop. Astoria needed a rest as she struggled to stay by his side in the madness. What Draco saw was Potter, standing off to the side talking with Ginny and then her hand was gone from his. Astoria was lost, gone and Draco spent the whole night trying to find her. When he awoke that day, he knew he hadn’t found her even as the dream faded. He blamed Potter for the bittersweet ending of that one. 

Today, he kept himself in his room. Unable to face Harry just in case he decided to pull a proper confession out of thin air. Draco couldn’t deal with that right now. Lotty had her orders, a buffet and the list of available foods had already been delivered. Hermione must have a reason to serve some old toffee as an option. All Draco could guess is it was someone’s favourite. Someone Hermione needed to be in a good mood. 

Agnar sent the owl and Lotty delivered the package straight to him.

“Mister Harry Potter wanted to give you it but this is Lotty’s job,” she’d snapped and Draco didn’t try to soothe her. He was too preoccupied. Did this still fit well? Had he accidentally self-sabotaged himself in his effort for everything to be perfect? 

And just like that, it was time for the party. Two hours to go and Draco started to put himself more solidly together, hoping to give the impression he was always dressed so formally and well. He did, but formal attire was a bore for most and had stringent rules to follow. No double buttons, no zips, nothing too gauche.

Draco fixed the collar, he couldn’t find fault in Agnar’s ability despite being as old as the Manor itself. He wasn’t a family friend, really, more akin to allowing people pay him double for speed. The Goblin had a chip on his shoulder, a nasty temper too. But competitive and a show-off was what he was too and it made Draco’s life much easier to buy from him than any other. 

He hadn’t been this concerned over his personal appearance in a long time. The last he’d been near obsessive when he’d started dating Astoria, wanting her to like him as much as he did her. But looking good - an easier task for a Malfoy, certainly - would ingratiate himself to some. And now, as Draco made sure the entire ensemble was straight lines with no creases, no lint and certainly nothing cheap looking - he sighed in the mirror. Nerves were starting to eat his common sense. At least Hermione and Ginny would be here before the guests, making sure they could cover up if Harry went missing mid-party. 

He slipped outside and wandered the Manor, checking that the doors which lead to other parts of the house were all alarmed and charmed to be closed until the last guest left. He spied the blue dress first only to realise who it was as she turned around. 

“I almost didn’t recognise you, Ms. Goven.”

Siobhan scratched her nose, even her nails usually short and clipped for work wore bright blue. “You clean up nicely yourself.” She coughed, smiling behind her hand. Good to know he still had it. “We should go downstairs, Mrs. Potter and the Minister are waiting to discuss the plan with you.”

“You can’t divulge it yourself?” She only raised a now finely sculpted eyebrow and Draco admitted defeat. Healers that didn’t talk were rare but it wasn’t possible to hear much gossip from them. “I suppose you’ll be my plus one.”

“Considering the papers, it might be best not to stay near each other for the rest of the night.”

“Good idea.” Draco kept a firm reminder that Hermione was the most fair person he’d had the chance to meet. Really, if Draco waltzed out with a new romantic interest so soon after Daphne had given such an incensed call that Draco loved Astoria more than anyone else, it would have only damaged his relations. 

“Well, shall we?” He offered his arm and Siobhan took it without Draco worrying over rejection. Unlike the real world, where Draco would and could be rejected with ease it was not so simple in the world of yule balls and political functions. It would call the other person crude, petty and it was smarter for everyone to pretend all were friends.

“You enjoy these, I take it?” She made conversation as they walked and it was strange to think he’d done the same thing with Astoria and yet had no element of interest in Siobhan.

“Was it obvious?” Draco peered down to see her smile grow. 

“Very. You were near vibrating with excitement. I think Harry was a little jealous.” His frown might have been confused with him not understanding instead of being reminded Harry had tried several times to have a conversation and Draco had ran away, lame excuse on his lips. “You’ve been rushing off whenever he’s called on you. I imagine he’s been quite bored without someone to put up with his nonsense.”

Draco smiled, “We’re kindred spirits, that know about how awful he is as a patient.”

“Awful. Absolutely awful.” Siobhan’s face soured, her lips painted pink curling up. “I’ve never met a man so keen on breaking his legs, so to speak, before he can walk.”

Draco was aware Siobhan had done this before. Goven was an alias but he now had to wonder as she took no issue with holding onto his arm and still walking down the stairs with large heels, that she was somehow related to a pureblood family. Unless they taught her these skills at that school of hers. 

“Oh!” Hermione greeted them with a smile that melted more of those nerves, “You both look like you're taking this seriously, good.” Hermione was in a similar shade of blue but nothing like the design. Merlin, Draco prayed no Witch arrived wearing the same gowns, dresses or robes.

Hermione and Siobhan seemed to exchange a quick pleasantry before explaining, “So, Ginny will stay with Harry for the first half.” Draco straightened up, he hadn’t seen either of them yet. But good, his plan to keep the two together so Harry could stop forgetting he was married - and not attracted to Draco was one step closer to completion. “After, Siobhan, you take over. You can be a friend of Ginny’s. She’ll back you up. You met in the Leaky Cauldron, that’s all. Ron and Harry shouldn’t be left alone together. They wouldn’t ruin anything but it’s better to keep them away from each other too. Anything else?” 

Draco shook his head, he’d done this sort of thing since he was seven. Parties were easy, smile and chat. Siobhan didn’t seem used to her hair out of its confines and began to curl her hair behind her ears. “It looks good, you know. Don’t fuss over it,” Draco whispered, knowing how his wife had a problem wearing scarfs thinking they made her look ‘frumpy’ whatever in Merlin’s name that meant. 

“Thank you. I’m a little out of my element here.”

“Well, if I have to see those at the door I need someone else to sacrifice the stares to.” Siobhan didn’t appreciate the joke but relaxed once she realised it wasn’t true. 

The greeting was only Hermione and himself. Hermione taking charge and Draco directing most questions back to why they were here. Most comments about his home were said with a tightness in their voices and Draco hoped Lotty had done enough to pull a genuine compliment out of them during the rest of the night. Harry and Ginny were not here yet and it seemed that was the plan - to have him arrive a little late while everyone else was around talking just so they could take note of him. 

Hermione took a few minutes from greeting everyone to standing beside him and chatting. It was a bold move, really. From Draco’s point of view, it was nice but overall Hermione really needed to focus on some of the heavy weights whose votes counted. 

“Draco, thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Lotty was meticulous, though her skills didn’t extend to people. Every blue bow was a near replica of the others and the candles were perfectly the same height - Draco wasn’t sure how she managed to have so many candles have such a variety of blues and white flames. A buffet of elf-cooked meals sat on the longest wall. Draco nodded, he agreed. The floor was gleaming, the walls bright even against the night. Thankfully no rain had turned the garden into a swamp and it left those who found the Manor too much a chance to leave but not the party in itself. What had Draco worried was Hermione’s facade dropped. “Are you okay? The news about Astoria and all…it wasn’t fair of the Prophet or--”

“Oh, that.” Draco bounced back. He had worried if his affect was off. “Daphne dealt with the whole thing.” Hermione did believe him, he assumed, as her smile was back and less strained. 

When the two Potters did appear, it was the same as every other time they arrived together. The same picture perfect couple, school sweethearts and strong enough to survive what the War dragged alongside. People cooed over Ginny, and Draco made sure to have his back to Harry from then on. Let him have all the time to banter and revel in the attention he received with Ginny.

Only once did Draco look back, when he was in conversation with two old crones that could barely hear, a witch with no sense of humor and her husband who might as well have stayed in bed with the times she’d elbowed him awake. Harry was well dressed for once, not slouching in that way that made Draco wonder if he was trying to make himself smaller and more unseen against the crowds. Tonight he was eagerly shaking hands, giving a grand hug to Hermione when he reached her. This was almost too easy. Anyone who sided against Harry or Ginny were typically not public favourites and it wasn’t so easy to buy that back. 

He hadn’t meant to catch Harry’s eye from across the room and he gulped from his champagne glass. It wasn’t so difficult, they’d had a bit of practise at that from Hogwarts though Draco had wanted Harry’s attention on Ginny for as long as possible. Draco suppressed a laugh, because Harry actually looked surprised - not present at his own party? Really, Potter - before Samson said something about Quidditch. That was a topic Draco knew and he turned to chat a little more. His wife did not seem pleased at the turn of conversation. 

If his neck prickled any, he ignored it. Far away from both not wanting to place himself in Harry’s sights or near Ginny. Not yet. He and Ginny were still making rounds, and had more than enough of the room watching them. It might rekindle the lost love, or whatever was lacking between the two. The details didn’t matter so much as Harry spend as much time as possible with his wife. Harry was simply missing whatever intimacy Ginny gave. His little crush would be over and Draco wouldn’t need to think about it. 

Such as: what if Harry was serious?

So, as Harry and Ginny kept their pace up on going around the room, Draco did the same. Never once standing in the same circle of gossip or conversation. He knew not everyone liked him but he welcomed them all the same. He just pretended they were Luna, who he spied across the room. Now, he had one more reason to move along faster. He hadn’t even given her name much thought, too focused on those he didn’t know. 

Luna was the first to show her clear allegiance and she hugged him. A surprise for a few, as Draco heard some whisper. He greeted Rolf, Luna’s husband with a somewhat nervous handshake. He hadn’t met the man once. 

And then his neck prickled and he sighed through his nose and hoped no one but Luna heard it. “Harry’s looking over here isn’t he?” He sipped at his champagne and loathed the way his night was going. If Harry kept up with this then everyone was going to be asking what Draco had done wrong, which might very well translate over to Hermione couldn’t be trusted. 

Luna smiled and nodded, “Mm, how did you know?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Rolf and I were interested in well, the owl.” She beckoned him a little closer and Draco leant her his ear, “We were talking about how it differs depending on which form the person’s in. Could I ask for a word in private so we can test it? It’ll take seconds.”

Draco wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea Rolf knew about his animagus form and he found himself annoyed. He told Astoria everything, he tried to reason. But he had thought Luna would know not to chatter about this. It was her husband. No secrets and all that, Draco sighed again. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel betrayed at this. He nodded and he made their way to a charmed room, one which no one but he - well, Harry too - could enter. 

“I’d like you to close your eyes.” Luna stood waiting and Rolf pulled out a quill and parchment. Right. If people ever said Snape watched them as if they were curious, dumb little creatures well, he suddenly felt that way too. 

Fine. Quicker this was over, the quicker he could return to the party and help Hermione. Closing his eyes in company wasn’t what Draco would agree to so easily, Luna had to know that. He waited and Luna did what she wanted, she scratched the bridge of Draco’s nose.

“How did that feel?” Rolf asked, quill posed and ready over the parchment.

“You’re both mad, you know that?” Draco laughed, nervous and not sure why he was now, so uncomfortable in his own skin. “It wasn’t the same. As an owl it’s more like a -- hug, I guess? It’s comforting as an owl. It’s weird otherwise.”

“I was right!” She grinned at Rolf and he shrugged, not as enthused. “Thank you.” Luna leaned closer, her whisper just audible, “Wanted to tell you, Mary, she’s not wearing her cloak anymore.”

His pleasant mood faltered. Until he saw Luna’s worry. Then he shook out of it. “It's fine, don't worry about it,” Draco whispered back and moving away, he added, “Best for us all to return, can’t have anyone think we were away too long. Gossip likes to wake in absence.”

It was a strange night, knowing the paranoid flare that told him someone was watching him was just Harry. Harry Potter was being a pest. And Draco wanted to laugh, manners be damned, at him acting so obviously. Had he always done this? Was this his life now? Having Harry Potter constantly follow him around and be some smitten fan? Well, he supposed it was time to set some things straight. He went upstairs, knew if Potter was anything still like himself, he’d take the opportunity and follow him. 

Draco pretended he didn’t see Harry until he was right next to him.

“Hey, I kinda feel like I haven’t spoken to you all week,” Harry said and if Draco didn’t know what he did all week long, he might have felt guilt over that comment. But what was Harry expecting Draco to do? Gush over him like so many others did?

Him: Harry Potter walking into a room with Draco Malfoy? They’d have their own set of stares and whispers. While some people might bite their tongue when Draco was near, in an effort not to anger Harry, to what end? What did he really think was going to happen? Ginny was still his wife. And Draco, how was he supposed to be a good husband if he went off with Harry? What would that mean? That Astoria was forgotten, that what they had didn’t mean anything? Never. He’d said, he’d promised to love her forever. 

“Been a bit busy,” Draco sighed into his flute glass and stared down at the crowds. The ballroom was full and spilling into the garden, the house itself enjoyed the new magical cores visiting. If they spoke a compliment or two, the Manor preened under the attention and Draco forced himself not to be too happy over it all. Lotty would be glad. 

“You look good.”

“I always look good.” Draco wasn’t sure now. How long had Harry flirted and Draco just hadn't seen it? He glanced back to see that ridiculous hair, still everywhere. “Couldn’t you have done something about the mop on your head?”

“Ginny tried. It does its own thing.” Harry rubbed at his neck and forced a smile on his face. That was a little too harsh, really. Probably. Right, he shouldn’t be too cruel else Harry might flip back to assuming everything he did had some nefarious purpose. 

“At least you bought a decent suit.” Draco was back on the crowds watching them mingle, seeing who went to who and who ignored who. A small saving of face, that wasn’t too much. His attempt to ease Potter backfired and the smile fell.

“I’m not that bad.”

The excuse was, he was busy. Each and every time Harry tried to ask, tried to talk that’s all Draco said. Then Draco remembered the coat and relented, “I suppose not.” He wasn’t too sure how he felt over Harry wanting to kiss him back then. He could still see Harry’s pupils widened and consumed, how eager. Draco cleared his throat and his head of that image. It was a strange thought, Harry wanted to kiss him back then. 

“See him, you need to do something you probably won’t like.” He didn’t point but motioned to the man in the obvious blue robes which were the worst fashion choices made this night. “Go remind Blue you killed Voldemort.”

“Will it help Hermione?” Harry was biting his lip, Draco could see a glimpse of teeth, not happy over his need to brag and Draco looked away not wanting to linger. 

“It might. Depends on how well you do.” Draco departed Harry’s company then, unsettled at how normal it was. Was Draco safe to pretend he knew nothing? He spied Ginny on her own, near the buffet and glancing around the place. 

“I don’t suppose you could take Harry back--” Ginny wore That Face, the one that Draco knew so well, was so accustomed to, the suspicion and near repulsion on her face was a copy of each and everyone Draco had met who hated him “--he’s been here forever,” Draco finished. He was proud he hadn’t stuttered through it even as she shifted into a smile, though it fake and unconvincing until she started to speak. 

“Do you need him out immediately? Are you running out of space?” Sarcasm was dangerous to a Slytherin because it could be layers of truth or insulting lies and Draco paused as Ginny’s smile didn’t falter. She was used to having people watch every single move and twitch on her face and try and guess what was being said. “How long have you planned having this party and using him as a centrepiece?”

“It was a last minute thing.” It sounded like a lie even to him, so he added taking a sip of his champagne. “Ask Hermione if you don’t believe me.” Finally, Ginny’s presence quelled and her Gryffindor bravado calmed. Whatever she thought was going on, he’d managed to convince her otherwise. Because there was no way on Earth that Hermione would cover for Draco when it came to Harry. 

Did she think this was all in Draco's plan? To house a sick Harry Potter and use him as a token to wow the guests? Not wanting to excuse himself too soon - anyone watching might consider they didn't enjoy one another's company. Ginny too was awkward and looked at her shoes until Draco heard her sigh as if she'd lost an argument with herself.

“He says he’s doing better. How true is that?” Ginny was tired. 

An honest answer? Draco didn’t say a word as another pair of wizards passed, and it gave him time to go through what exactly he’d heard from Siobhan and how Harry was making progress. “I won’t say it wouldn’t happen again. It just might take three years of another incorrectly brewed potion.”

Ginny looked guilty and again, Draco was proved wrong in his assumptions over her behaviour as she sipped her drink and crossed an arm over her chest. “Keep an eye on him. He lies. A lot. I think we’ve all heard he’s fine more than enough to know he’s not.” Her bitterness was overshadowed by a strange morph of hurt and resentment. Draco wondered how far gone Harry was to lie so often - was he lying? Was Harry lying over his flirtations too? Was this because Draco was in charge of his potions now? How serious was he?

It bothered him. Even as Ginny made her excuse to leave and take over Siobhan’s station over Harry. It… really bothered him. What did he bloody want? What could possibly make Potter think securing potions from him needed him to swan about and flirt? Did he honestly think Draco was desperate? He’d ignored him for a week, a long gruelling week and now, Draco wanted to know. What was Harry’s angle here?

Looking around the room he spied a few others who’d left their own circles of chatter. He really hated Mrs. Weatherby as she smiled at him from across the room. She was adamant in her old ways and not because they were proper or made sense to anyone but her, but because that’s what worked for her once or twice in the past never mind the coincidental events which led to that. As such she didn’t trust anyone never seen drunk and Draco suspected she knew he’d been nursing the same flute of champagne since the beginning. 

He finished the one he was holding, grabbed another one and left to speak with Harry who’d taken to the fringes of another group which surrounded Hermione. He didn’t make his way straight over there, needing to pass through the crowds and make sure everything was going well.

By the time he’d made it to Potter’s side, the second glass was handed off to some hired help of Hermione’s. Harry shifted, and Draco didn’t miss the way he straightened up as he moved to whisper into his ear, “How about a wager?” And as he went to pull back, Harry grabbed his wrist again, keeping him near. The ballroom might as well not have had a crowd, the decorations perfect or his wife standing in this very room with the scandal written on his face. 

“And what do I win?”

Draco snorted, hiding his nerves. He remembered, Harry didn’t care about reputation or how to garner favour from other families. “You’re not going to win.” He snatched his hand away, burnt nerves reminding him while he walked away he was playing a game he knew nothing about.

He made his way to Weatherby, the old crone. She didn’t speak much, though Draco was well aware that some of the younger guests would try and foolishly fill the silence. She must have found out quite a bit of information so far. So, he asked her how her charity for abandoned familiars was going. Cue two others jumping in, letting him know their charities too, were wholesome and in ever need if funds. Cruelty, arrogance or boredom made Draco stay quiet as the three began to one up each other over stats and how much they helped the world. All the while, on the rare occasion a question came this way, he’d make it seem like maybe he should invest. In one, just one because Draco Malfoy wasn’t that keen to part with too much money on one night. All three agreed to write to him in future. 

Next was the man whose name escaped Draco’s grasp. All he knew he was on the list for Magical Creature Protection and the list for Profits Potion Dispensary. An interesting life, really. How could someone who thought dragons shouldn’t have their scales taken, pixies wings unplucked think about protecting said Magical Creatures while also in the group that was listed as possible blackmarket? A hypocrite at worst, a liar at best. Draco chatted about his lab and the Liar chatted about his. Luring out the information was easy enough, as this one wanted everyone to know how much of an undiscovered prodigy he was.

He was sweating as Draco started to dissect the lies he spoke, and those nearby were happy to watch him fall. The crowds appreciated an arrogant sod falling. One thing Draco understood more than not now was arrogance and bragging did nothing but dig under everyone’s skin. Another couple, who did not entertain him in the slightest were not interested in him. They were Hermione’s guests and so Draco excused himself too. Bumping into someone, he turned to apologise and make up for his lack of grace only for him to realise it wasn’t his fault.

Harry caught him by his arm, returned the whisper in his ear that made him freeze, “Last week, you’ve been avoiding me since then.”

“Wow, you really are an Auror.” Draco tried his best to be nonchalant even as a tingle ran up his neck. “So, have you gone mad? Is that it?” 

His jaw twitched and he scoffed. “Come here,” Harry said, sharp and much like what Draco assumed his underlings at the Aurors heard from him on a day-to-day basis. Draco panicked as Harry led him away. This wasn’t a good look. This wasn’t a good look at all.

Harry didn’t march him away too far. The Manor buzzed in his head when Harry opened one of the doors to an out of bounds rooms before it calmed. He let go, charging off into the room and Draco at least had no slamming doors to alert any more people. 

“So you knew? All this time?” Harry wasn’t angry, belligerent or insulted. Embarrassed might be closer as he fidgeted with his glasses, “You don’t--” 

“--Never thought about it. Haven’t thought about it.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Harry didn’t need to know that. Draco rested his back against the door, ignoring Harry completely, looking off to one side. All while Harry returned, standing a little too close, a little too much in Draco’s personal bubble. Trying to bluff his way out of the looming conversation, Draco picked at lint which wasn't there, “Yes well, you have my attention now. I should say--”

“I think--” it was difficult to speak when he saw Harry’s attention diverted to his mouth and stay there, “--you’ve confused me caring for you as me caring about you.” There. What a weight off his shoulders. He was doing the right thing. Harry could think about all the misinterpreted cues, feelings and know that Draco wasn’t taking advantage or messing around and go back and try with Ginny. His wife and not someone who--and Harry kissed him.

More of a peck, really. Nothing to write home about, it was over before Draco really registered what was going on. Nothing to panic over, nothing to blush over, he bit into his tongue hoping the heat on his face wasn't noticeable. His wedding ring gnawed hard on his finger wanting him to stop and Draco flinched back, he wasn’t sure how he should--“Can you think about it now? Properly.” And Draco didn’t know what to do, not with all this, this Harry that has kissed him and not thrown an insult. The Manor gave him encouragement - it wanted a Ward to be happy and get what it wanted - and Draco was still stuck, looping over the same phrase in his head unable to peel himself off the door or move an inch. 

Harry was serious. Wasn’t he? He was actually serious.

Did Harry even want to fall again for Ginny? Did Ginny even want their romance rekindled? Draco was always scared of Harry’s unbridled confidence; he never seemed to quake or cower, never wavered in doing what he wanted or thought best. Without a thought, a single thought to what that might mean he just went off and did whatever he pleased. 

He licked his lips and tried to focus on what he was expected to say, but all that popped into his heads were more sensationalised headlines. 'Death Eater Ruins Potter Marriage', 'Malfoy Corrupts Boy Wonder,' 'Harry Potter Under Impervious,' and he couldn't let go of the paranoia that Harry wasn't serious, not really, not even as Harry was saying otherwise. “You have more money, political clout and reputation than I have. You should find someone else if you want someone other than Ginny.”

Oh, Merlin. Shutting his eyes, Draco cursed. Ginny. She was only through this doorway and she'd send him a slew of Hexes and Jinxes if this ever reached her.

Poor Harry was watching him like he didn't understand. Had he forgotten about Wilks and his ilk already? Every interaction Draco had was give and take. Blaise was galleon hungry and Nott was necessary to blackmail and bludgeon to go Draco's way. Luna was a slight exception, though her knowing the truth about the owl, Fornax, was yet another imbalance to chalk up to Draco's meagre reputation. If people liked him, he wouldn't need to hide it.

“I'm not-- I haven't been--” Harry scrubbed at his face, his fingers going under his glasses, and Draco wasn't impressed at how long it took Harry to figure out how him trying to be anything to Draco Malfoy was a poor idea. “I don't care about any of that.” 

“I didn't expect you to." Draco thudded his head back against the door. Not much could undo defeating Voldemort. “Look at it this way, to most I'm a Death Eater." He didn't consider himself one but it was better to use it in his defence than allow it as a weapon to be used against him. “If I'm too friendly or close to others, I pull them down too. Luna's been saved from being barred from a few places only because she runs The Quibbler. Hermione will most likely be taking a chance on the votes I can get her versus the ones she'll lose because this party is here, in my house. Social poison is the term.” 

“I don't care," was Harry's immediate reply.

And Draco scoffed in good humour because Harry was telling the truth - and wasn't that adorably naive? “You will, when your kids start being refused entry to places because of me. So, don't start something you shouldn't.” Being taller than Harry was always a point of pride, especially back in Hogwarts which made sneering and looking down his nose at him much easier. Normally, usually, Harry would scowl and raise his shoulders like an alley cat ready to fight. He didn't do either this time.

No, this time Harry's smile was back and it grew till he was grinning, “It sure seems like you've given it a lot of thought.” Why was it always the plans that involved Potter that never went the way Draco wanted it to? 

“Did you listen to a word I said?” Bristling at that familiar tone, Draco tried to redirect before Harry tugged on this avenue of conversation. The control was slipping, he could feel in slip through his fingers.

“You've thought about it.” That bloody voice always was provoking him, “You said you hadn't.” Harry sounded just too pleased with himself, “so, what did you think?”

“This is the worst idea you've ever had and I'm aware you marched into the Forest to die," Draco said, a panicking thought he might not be able to get him off this topic.

Harry erupted into such a loud and sudden laughter Draco cringed. The rooms were charmed not to allow those inside but they weren't charmed to cancel noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is first part -- wasn't going to split this up but it just kept going and going and going and yeah. Big chapter for you all. <3 Next one is similar in length too. :0


	23. The Party (Part II)

He was half expecting Harry’s burst of laughter to contain an admission that everything up to this point was a joke but the punchline of such a twisted prank never arrived. Or for the door to burst wide and have everyone staring, peering in and accusing him of somehow seducing Potter. Thinking of it that way was enough for the wedding band to nip again on his finger. Calm down, think and test. Test how honest Harry was being about this. 

What else did he have to gain from this? All the possibilities and most of them were negative. Any publication able to tarnish Harry a cheater and humiliate Ginny in one fell swoop would be pressed up against the door if they knew what Harry was saying, doing. Why would Harry risk that? Unless he wasn’t.

“Ginny and you are keeping your separation quiet for Lily, yes?” Harry probably didn’t expect Draco’s collected, some might say even cold response. “Are you expecting me to be a secret? Or wait around for years to come?” The more he said, the more he scowled and with writhing worms in his gut every second was more and more uncomfortable. He wanted answers but Draco wasn’t keen to hear what he assumed right. 

Did Harry really think so much of himself? That Draco would happily wait or stand in the dark corners and keep everything secret. Is that what Harry was hoping for Draco to say? Logically, it was sound. His ring was biting now, urging him away from the thoughts of another person other than Astoria. 

“I don’t think most people when they see us are going to immediately guess--”

“So, that’s it? I won’t be an easy find for your adoring public.”

“You really,” Harry sighed and it weighed Draco down by his feet. “I really didn’t say any of that. I’ll leave it up to you.” Harry’s smile might not be as broad but it was there, still, taunting Draco all over again. “Does this mean you’re actually, really, thinking about it?”

The ring bit and chewed and Draco felt his hand and finger grow warm in a trickle of blood. Draco hid it under his robe’s sleeve, not bothering to alert Harry to this. Not yet, the conversation couldn’t change because of this. 

“I’ve more questions. Though not enough time to ask.” Draco paused to listen to anything from beyond the door. Gossips had ruined many a reputation. “I don’t know if I could think of you like that.” The lie was easy enough for Draco to say to Harry. Unlike his wedding band which bit and bit because he wasn’t thinking of Astoria.

“Would it help if I kissed you again?”

“Where do you get your confidence?” Did Harry know how to lose? Had he ever had a defeat where he didn’t brush it off and walk away unharmed?

“It’s not confidence. I’m just impatient.” And impulsive, Draco added himself knowing fine well Harry wasn’t the type to think too much when overwhelmed with feelings. It gave him an opportunity, to see if this - all this chat and flirting held anything more than a flimsy excuse to eavesdrop in his house or barter for potions. 

“Fine.” Draco stood away from the door, clenched his hand tight because there was no way it was going to allow him to remove it. This one liked to dig in and as much as the teeth were small and sharp, the ring itself would tighten and cause more damage in the long run. Astoria’s mother was adamant to check it every time they met and his hand was always flawless - of course it was - and no scars or quick healing magic used. “Take the specs off.” 

“What? Really?” Harry didn’t even try to hide how his eyebrows disappeared under that mess of hair. Was this a lie then? Draco tilted his head, waiting to see if he slipped up again. And Harry took them off, squinting around before continuing, “You aren’t making fun of me are you?” 

Asking him now, Draco would lean towards curiosity than much else. People didn’t take their fill of Draco Malfoy, they took it from his Vaults. He was key to be used and entertained: Wilks was the same. He flirted and preened and cooed over Draco but Draco - he knew what desire looked like. And no one, not for a long time, ever wanted to spend too much time, invest much effort in the potential Death Eater. He was certain he could tell if Harry was lying. That peck was something anyone could do. It hadn’t meant anything.

Once Harry failed, they could return to the fragile friendship they’d started. It was the perfect plan, really. Which was why as Harry came closer again, Draco only considered one outcome. He was definitely lying and Harry would be the proof itself. What Draco expected was another peck, a half-hearted attempt to coerce.

So, Harry putting his arms around his neck was the first step in confuddling him. A distorted thought that if Harry so wanted to hurt him, he was the perfect height to headbutt his nose. Astoria was quite short in comparison to Harry, Draco always had to crane his neck down awkwardly for a kiss. But Harry didn’t do that. He kissed him again and instead of leaving it as a failure, as a cheap gimmick even Draco could muster for anyone he didn’t stop. And then Draco’s plan died a death in fire and confusion. Because he was snogging Potter. 

The long forgotten heat of a tongue against his mouth, in his mouth and the weight of someone leaning against him was nearly enough to make him pull away. This was more than-- and the nails at his neck scratched at his nerves, all the way down his spine and Draco shuddered against the sensation. Harry had him back, pressed against the door. Resting his uninjured hand along Harry’s throat and jaw he could feel Harry’s fast pulse, hear and feel the urgent breathing against his cheek when he took a second. 

Ouch.

He pushed Harry in retaliation for the pull of his hair, against something else, Draco didn’t care what, didn’t check - Harry was fine, he was still eager and pawing at the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck. As the blood thrummed in his head, the cuts on his finger bled more and Draco didn’t care.

One of them, was it him, was it Harry, Draco didn’t know who started to tug at robes first. But Potter had his hand slide under everything, fingers against his collarbone and whatever noise Draco would have made, was swallowed down by Harry’s mouth. Potter’s hands were hot coals, imprinting onto his skin no matter where he moved them. He was taller as he hopped up onto - what was it, the chest of drawers - and Draco’s neck thanked him. 

And Potter wasn’t just kissing his mouth but a nipped at his jaw and scratched at his skin and tugging at him to be closer and--

Someone rattled the door, the handle twisting and turning. Out of reflex, forgetting the doors were safe and secure already Harry muttered a spell that may have failed and Draco ordered the House to shut it. And then they stayed there, listening - a woman going by the voice asking who was in there - and Draco was certain he stopped breathing for a moment as he waited to see if she would attract a crowd. Draco sighed when someone else spoke about the bathroom being on the east side of the building. 

He felt it in Harry’s posture too, how his muscles relaxed and Draco was going to pull away before Harry kept him still. Harry’s eyes were dark, as if the sun eclipsed and his face flushed. 

“You believe me now?” Draco nearly missed the words in their entirety as he stared as Harry spoke, breathless and mouth more appealing than it should be. Harry tried to start up again and in response, Draco started to pull away. This wasn’t the best locale after all. People would definitely talk here if they suspected anything.

Clearing his throat, Draco started to build up those walls again. “Go meet and greet, Potter. Party’s still on.” Draco ran his hand through his hair, wanting to ignore how his lips felt were entirely too tingly to chat with old geezers that were stuck in their ways about policy. Harry left first as he didn’t need to worry about his hair, it was always a mess. Draco was grateful he hadn’t hung around to try to talk.

“Merlin, what am I doing?” Draco shook his head as he examined the mess of his finger. Well, he wasn’t sure why it hadn’t cut off his finger immediately; it had done more damage at the thought than the action. Well, he supposed he was either desperate enough for any sort of interaction or, possibly, the idea of Harry wanting him wasn’t so unappetising. 

Right. 

Spelling away the blood was simple. Making certain he didn’t appear as if he’d went off to suck face with Harry was more difficult. He wasn’t sure if his hair was sitting like it had and despite spells for lowering bruising, he was sure swollen lips didn’t count. Well, he might as well try it. 

He supposed he could lie and say he was allergic to champagne. That might convince some Muggleborns not many purebloods would consider it even possible for Draco to forget about a quick potion. He waited. Until his heart rate was calmer. Best get on with the rest of the night. Taking one last look in the mirror, he agreed his demeanour said nothing about what occurred. 

He hadn’t considered he’d feel anything now that he was in a room filled with others and Harry being only one, one tiny fraction of that crowd. Dealt with, completed, no more right now - Draco considered what happened with Harry done, finished. Until he saw him again. 

Convenience was a strange state. Astoria’s mother demanded him to wear this ring so he would not easily commit adultery. Yet Draco needed no charmed or hexed jewellery for that. Yet now, it was this ring which nipped and reminded him to focus - on the other guests and not on Harry Potter’s scorching looks from across the room. It took away the phantom pressure on his lips, the scratches on his neck and banished stray thoughts. Like if Harry was as impulsive and impatient as he claimed, what was stopping him from marching over and continuing? A daring thrill ran through him at that.

Stop. Stop it. Either his common sense or the ring said. It only got worse as most interpreted Harry’s stare as fury, Draco’s as aloofness or arrogance. People could see them. But they didn’t see it. They just kept out of the way, people moving out of Harry’s stare - if they ever blocked the view of one Draco Malfoy. 

Draco clawed over the nape of his neck desperate for another distraction. No matter who, their importance in Hermione’s schemes or how Draco required their vote he couldn’t stop being dragged back. Back over to wherever Harry was and catching his eye again. And both a distinct pleasure - no one in the room seemed to even realise - and pain - it nipped again and again and each time Draco had to spell the mess away - kept Draco’s nerves alight. 

This was the worst idea Draco ever had. When Harry made his way round the room again - Siobhan now stationed at his side - he knew it was the worst. The worst idea as Harry greeted the same circle of witches and wizards and Draco was going to die. Because Draco had no other action than to allow Potter to pull him closer and whisper into his ear and Draco wanted to drag Potter out of here by his ridiculous hair.

“Malfoy.” He froze, not at the distant name but how it sounded far different from anything Draco ever heard. Now he was back in there, in that room, with Harry clawing at him. “Stop it.”

What exactly was he doing?

Had anyone else heard that? No. Everyone was in on their own conversation, keeping out of the way of the Auror. One by one, Draco stopped biting his bottom lip and breathing and his face warmed, a quivering nerve down his spine and Draco couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t allow Potter to see how utterly cruel and unfair this all was: he wasn’t going to lose when he was hosting a party. 

“Where would the fun in that be?” he added, “Potter.” Seeing the way his muscles twitched on his face was worth it. 

That’s when Draco started to notice everything else. People started to blank him, at his own party. And when Draco glanced back to see Harry, still staring, Draco swore. It was happening. He was being shunned. And it was Harry’s fault. It was his fault for entertaining this idea. He fled, trying to think. He avoided Harry, trying to recoup the loss. But it didn’t matter because all people saw was Harry wasn’t pleased and, clearly, it must be the Death Eater’s fault. Bugger, bugger, bugger. 

So, Draco stood on the upper floor, looking down, waiting for Hermione to finish her rounds and make her way upstairs so she could start her speech. This was always a boring time during the night. No one really liked the speeches, they were a means to an end. Unless Draco had done a terrible job those who would vote for Hermione’s incentive would do so without needing to hear a long winding speech about how it was the just and right thing to do. 

“So this is where you’re hiding?” Draco sipped his half-filled flute and didn’t look down at Potter. He was hidden from sight, the half-walls high enough even to hide that unruly hair of his. 

“I was tired of being asked if I thought you were up to something.”

“You know why that is, don’t you?” Draco sniped at Harry’s idiocy, he’d done well for Hermione even Ron but for him? He’d just cast more suspicion. “Standing across the room, glaring at me for an hour and a half and you think it’s weird that people are going to start thinking I’m up to something?”

“I wasn’t glaring.” Harry wasn’t lying, he supposed as Draco took another sip. Eventually, once Hermione made her speech the evening would run down and most would start to leave. Whatever impression Harry had left along with them. Harry still had time to undo the damage he’d done. 

“I doubt any would believe you if you told the truth of what you were doing.” Draco closed his eyes, he really wasn’t sure what he should make of Harry’s new found affection. It was unfounded, it was weird. But it wasn’t necessarily as uncomfortable as he expected. If anything he’d revelled under the knowledge only he knew in a room filled with people. “You ruined my fun. No one’s going to come back here in case I am up to something.”

Was he bitter? Yes. Of course he was. If Potter did have some twisted way of showing affection ruining his chance to gain more allies wasn’t cool. 

“What can I do?”

“Just leave me alone.” Draco set the flute on the half-wall and spied Hermione chatting animatedly with Ron and the head of magical games and sports, Draco wasn’t sure of the name. What did it matter? “You don’t need to be in my house any more, Potter. Find somewhere else and hire Siobhan yourself. I’m done.”

“I can fix it.”

“You can’t even walk,” Draco snapped back and stood up straight, off to the balcony where the ballroom itself would help carry a voice without the need of magic. Harry had managed to walk two steps, before he’d clung onto Draco’s arm. He was pleading and it made Draco’s blood boil.

“Just tell me what you want me to say.”

“I can buy a dozen mouthpieces, the problem is so can everyone else.” He shrugged the hand from his arm and glared. How could he have been so stupid to think this would end well. Harry Potter, centre of attention no matter what. No matter what Draco was always the bad guy. 

Draco saw Hermione and spoke quickly over what he should say. Should he say speech, should he just say ‘a small word’, how long was her little speech anyway? Hermione gave him a pat on his shoulder, told him he’d do it and Draco wondered just how awful had Harry tanked his reputation just through misunderstandings alone. 

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

As people heard Hermione’s speech, the customary clap from everyone even if it moved everyone to tears of boredom was endured. Then Draco and Hermione were back together, giving people farewells and redoubling their efforts for people to like Hermione enough, or simply being inclined to vote because of the financial or social benefit. 

And then it happened, a fairly youthful witch waltzed over and hugged him. Clearly intoxicated going by her slurring. 

“Sanks,” she’d wept. And that’s when Draco wondered what Harry had done because she wasn’t the only one to extend their gratitude.

“You’ve done a good thing, a bloody good thing.” A much older wizard clapped him on his shoulder and he and Hermione shared a bewildered look. What was this all about? Hermione excused herself as the crowds thinned and Ron waved her over, frowning and giving Draco an uncomfortable nod of acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure why he was being thanked so soon by so many people but he eyed Harry from over the crowds that were gravitating towards the exit. Once his duties ended he went to see what Harry had to say for himself. 

Unlike the proud, preening idiot he expected to see, Harry was talking to Hermione, seemingly furious. What a bloody idiot. This whole night was for Hermione, anger directed at or near her did not help. What if someone snapped a picture right now? They could paint such a grand story and nothing factual. Draco didn’t hear much, other than Hermione’s objections and the name of Ginny being brought up only to die as he sided up to the two of them. “I suggest you both smile. Else people are going to notice.” 

“I’m going to say goodbye to the stragglers. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“Doubtful.” Draco tilted his head and Hermione walked away, she wasn’t used to heels and Ron was happy to offer an arm to let her hang on and still keep up a steady pace. Harry didn’t say a word. “I should say this is only half the night. Technically.” Draco was well aware trying to open up a clammed up Harry wasn’t what he needed right now. Engagement, chatter, something in the opposite direction which Harry and Hermione spoke about. That way at least people would see he and Harry weren’t entirely at odds. “Most of those leaving have already decided on their vote. Those who hang around are the ones we’ll need to convince more, if at all.” 

Harry still didn’t say anything. 

“I’m not thanking you, you made the mess in the first place.” As such, Harry deflated beside him and Draco’s self-control stopped him from shaking his head and calling him a disappointment. 

“Politics and social gatherings aren’t really my thing. I wasn’t thinking about everyone else.”

‘Just you,’ his pout implied. Or was Draco inferring wrong - was that simply all Draco wanted him to say.

“Do you expect me to accept that as an apology? Boohoo, you didn’t think - and I’m the one who has to deal with your bullheaded way--”

His father always said never to accept an apology. Anyone who dared betray, hurt or pity a Malfoy should never be forgiven. Humiliated and destroyed, that was what Draco was taught to do to anyone else. Add him to a list and never trust again. Funny really because Draco hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d dragged him and his mother into. 

“I’m sorry.” Draco blinked at Harry’s imploring words. This wasn’t fair. Why was Harry, looking at him as if he was the bad guy, as if Draco had done the harm?

They’d never apologised, for all the awful things between them in Hogwarts. It was brushed away like Draco’s sentence when Harry had him acquitted. It wasn’t what should have happened, not even his father spoke about what Harry had done and all Draco thought was: Harry was mad. Gone utterly round the bend and took his spot as Saviour of the Wizarding World too far. 

Resentment that rose for so long was replaced with relief. He wasn’t going to spend his life in Azkaban. But they’d never spoken a word after that, not until Scorpius was in the picture. Even then, Draco never said a word about the Invisibility Cloak or cackling over Harry’s limp and boneless arm or--

“Just think a little more, you don’t have any dragonblood to blame and I don’t have the time to do damage control every time you’re in the vicinity.” 

“I’m not used to everyone just jumping to conclusions like that. Aurors have training to make sure you don’t.”

“I suppose it’s better than people finding out the truth.” Draco shrugged, looked around and spied a more intimate twenty or so guests still remaining. In the old days, this was when bribes and deals were introduced. Hermione was on a warpath and she wouldn’t not chat about her vision. Draco would be needed to prod a few towards agreeing. “What did you tell everyone?” He hadn’t been hugged by so many people in a long time. A lie. He hadn’t been hugged so often, ever.

“The truth.” Draco’s heart might have fallen out his mouth at that. “That you saved my life and I owe you one. And that I was angry because people were just ignoring you.”

A fluttering feeling settled in his chest and Draco took another swig of his drink. Right. Well, he could easily make this a point of conversation. Though having Potter involved might help, Draco couldn’t think of how awkward that’d be - to have Potter thank him, in front of everyone and yet not really believe it himself. Potter wasn’t dying, certainly his magic was crazed and feral but dying was an exaggeration. One Draco wasn’t keen on accepting. Because the only time he did almost meet Death was as a result of his flawed and foolish plan a desperate Harry Potter hadn’t baulked at in the beginning. 

Harry, as such, was left well alone during the rest of the after-party. Draco spoke to the rest, careful of his words and the earlier heat dying because tonight showed how useless it was. No one would think well of him, even if Potter had his say. Weatherby didn’t so much as answer a question any more. He’d simply been caught up in whatever little spell of Harry’s.

The guests left after speaking more to Hermione. Draco was finished, he didn’t want this party. Had it been successful or a disaster? Time would tell. At first, he watched Ginny and Harry kiss on the cheek and say goodnight which brought a thought to Draco he hadn’t had all night.

Where was Siobhan? He wandered the Manor, looking for the Healer. But even as the Manor told him who was where, Harry and Lotty now together in the ballroom, Siobhan was nowhere. She’d left too. Draco wasn’t keen to ask why; had she seen or heard them? Was she off to gossip to the papers? No, Draco frowned at his hand, she wasn’t the type to sell out patients. Doubtful she would commit her own professional death at being known as a Healer that sold stories.

But where was she?

Draco took off his ring, underneath was caked in dried blood. He cleaned it first, this time picking at the flakes and smoothing over the metal. Its teeth were gone, hidden away again and Draco heard Astoria, clear as she said it the first time.

‘Don’t wear it. You don’t need to wear it. You’ve nothing to prove.’

He wore it because he did. He had everything to prove to his in-laws. A badge of honour really, at times, others a physical retort of Astoria’s family. They didn’t think he loved her. He did and he proved it by wearing this cursed thing and he hadn’t regretted it. 

Wrong, that’s what this was. To have wore the ring of his dead wife while he kissed someone who had tried to kill him and ultimately saved him. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Draco clenched his hand around it, tight and he heard it snap, the teeth exposed and waiting. Actions weren’t the key to causing it. 

Sighing throughout the house, Draco wasn’t sure if he should return it to his finger. Not until this blanket of guilt removed itself from his head. What was he doing? What did he really think would happen? Realistically? Nothing could come of this, nothing public. 

It was a surprise when it was Harry standing in front of him and Draco glanced to the sides of him, Lotty was busy removing the decorations and additions to the room. “You’re bleeding.” Harry didn’t wait for an answer but grabbed at his hand and muttered, “ _Episkey_.”

Harry didn’t let go.

The spell proved futile to remove the feeling of wrongdoing. “Onto the healing spells already?” Turning over his hand, Harry checked and Draco noticed no more tiny pinpricks, no more clotted and scabbing blood. And still, it left him with nothing to focus on. Nothing wormed its way down his spine, no memories threatened to steal his sanity. Nothing and Draco wondered if what happened was all in his head, the evidence removed. Even as Harry seemed hesitant to do anything else but stand there and hold onto him. 

Harry rubbed at his nest of hair, seemingly flustered, “It’s not that impressive. Used that spell a lot back in the day, before going home or back to the office.” Harry mumbled the rest, “people would fuss otherwise.”

How terrible. Such a privileged life Potter led, tired of people caring and fussing over him. A drink, that’s what he needed. With guests not drinking much, the rows of untouched champagne was a buffet all on its own. He took his fill and Harry stayed silent by his side. 

“Come see a game of Quidditch with me. Cannons are playing in a few weeks.”

“No.” The last time he and Scorpius went to see a game of Quidditch, well, it was nothing worth repeating. Looking back, Harry was crushed - clearly, with his pout and sulk and his knitted brow and his scuff of his shoes against the floor. Another pang of guilt, another flash of tiny teeth and Draco sighed, relenting. “Nowhere too public.” 

“I have to go into the office tomorrow. I could use some company. Can’t exactly just go in with a bonafide Healer. ”

Potter was an idiot of the highest calibre, Draco had no doubt now.

“Circe and her sisters, I can’t hang around the Auror department. Have you forgotten who I am? How many people want me in Azkaban?” He spat, Harry had been told about his lack of thinking. This really was the worst idea he’d ever had. Draco took to sitting down, on the floor and waiting for Lotty to finish her inventory. He really needed to tell her before the night was over. 

“Right. Sorry, forget I said anything.” The smile said something else and Draco didn’t have to wait long and Harry was proud of his words, “Fornax could chase away anyone I don’t want in my office.” He sat down next to him, no longer bumping into him. No, he was shoulder to leg next to him and Draco snorted. 

What part of ‘never bring this up’, ‘ever’ did he not understand? Did he not--oh. Draco stared into his champagne, nearing empty. He had mentioned spells, he should have ignored it. Was this a dig, was this a proposition because Draco hadn’t ignored it?

“On one condition.” Draco stared at his hand, still under Harry’s supervision. Maybe he wasn’t so confident in his healing spells.

Oh.

Right. Draco flexed it, curious now too. Why had the spell hurt as an owl? Was it the dragonblood? Dragons were notorious for their destruction, not healing capabilities. Did Harry think he’d hurt him? Sighing loud and slow, Draco offered his hand and said quickly, “It didn’t hurt. You can check it if you’re so inclined.” He should have implied checking also meant not trusting him. But how fast, how careful Harry took his hand to look was enough in itself to say how worried Potter was. 

He was ready to pry and tear apart any inconsistencies. Draco harked back to what Ginny said before. He lied. A lot. 

“When did this start?” Draco asked, hoping he didn’t need to elaborate. Harry’s hands were not just warm but calloused as they added pressure here and there - probably trying to get Draco to flinch, to prove Harry had somehow hurt him with the healing spell. 

“When you were waiting on Luna. You were just--” He shifted then, shrugging and awkward and Draco tried not to think of how this hand had been scratching at his neck hours ago, “--a Draco Malfoy I hadn’t seen before.” Draco was going to ask what a statement like that bloody well meant but Harry, frowning and uncertain started to ramble, “You know, not the arrogant git from school. Or the muted guy that doesn’t say a word in the Wizengot unless absolutely necessary.”

Most people were in two separate categories: a supporter or not. One gave him words of encouragement or information for the same in return. Draco wasn’t sure what Harry was really talking about, Siobhan had said he’d near vibrated over this party and he wondered if he’d done the same waiting on Luna and waiting to see how his gift fared. 

“Keep going.” Draco took another gulp of champagne. “I like talking about me.” Harry might have scoffed but the smile on his face said otherwise. Harry spoke about him a lot. Not enough to embarrass him - there was no such amount - but it was interesting to hear what Harry thought was going on. 

“I genuinely thought you and Blaise were shagging and when you said you weren’t, I didn’t really believe you or him. Not until he came by earlier to check on you about the Prophet. But I was a little -- well, I was watching to see if you were hiding it.”

“Still on that?” Draco wasn’t even bothered any more. What was Potter without his obsessive behaviour. Bloody prat actually followed him to the girl’s bathroom. It was the booze that made him laugh - not giggle - laugh and Harry was far too amused by it. 

“So, me leaving. Is there a time limit?” It was an off comment, really. One instantly recognised as not a joke, despite how lighthearted Harry tried to pass over it. He’d stilled, stalling in fidgeting or examining Draco’s hand. 

“What? Is this what this is? You making nice?” Squeezing his hand closed he trapped Harry’s hand in his. Ah, there it was. The raising shoulders and the grimace that told Draco how close Harry was to snapping. “Calm down, Potter. Stay if you want. It’s not as if I’m running out of rooms.”

Draco stayed where he was, drinking quietly whilst Harry did nothing but hold his hand. And he laughed - not giggled - laughed at it all. Ridiculous, this was all utterly ridiculous.

“Um, Draco I think you might be a bit tipsy.” 

Tipsy? Not good enough. Draco tried to spell another down, but to knocked into another and like dominoes the flutes all fell, shattering and spilling everywhere. But the one Draco wanted floated down, unharmed and Draco wasn’t sure how many of these he’d had tonight. 

Draco greeted the house elf but she said nothing in return. Lotty kept her eyes on the floor, awaiting judgement. Well, he’d had a bizarre day, a nice day, an aggravating day and with a sigh he started what he knew wouldn’t end soon. “The work you did over the last week proves you are my favourite house elf.” Lotty tugged at her ears and tried to hide behind them. Then came the shrill cries he knew, because Lotty was never very good at taking compliments and he’d need to say it over the course of a few days.

Harry was grinning and Draco wasn’t sure why. He stumbled up, he’d wanted to use the wall behind him to keep himself up but one hand was around a glass and the other with Harry. It was then Harry’s fault, entirely that Draco was not graceful. 

“Think it’s about time for you to go to bed,” Harry joked and laughed and Draco scowled. Looked at Harry's hand now fully clasped in his. When had he done that? He shook his head, vehemently said he was not tired, Harry disagreed. They bickered, and Draco huffed.

“Lotty, my room would you?” Draco pulled away from Harry completely. It didn’t bother him, he was still grinning far too wide.

She did as she was asked and apparated Draco to his room. 

He slept, a dreamless sleep and awoke to a crying snotty house elf claiming she’d burnt the soup and therefore could not be his favourite. Laughing didn’t help her feel any better but really, Lotty was a form of amusement herself at times. So he reminded her, “You’re my favourite, don’t argue.” The pulling of rank and station helped. 

Breakfast wasn’t burnt, as much as Lotty claimed it to be and there too sat Siobhan, back in her working uniform. She played with her food, didn’t greet him as he entered.

“Draco, I’m going to take Fornax to the Ministry, that’s still okay, right?” Draco nodded, not too interested in Harry right now. What was the curiosity was Siobhan herself. 

“Siobhan, you vanished last night.” Her cutlery clattered on her plate. 

“I-- I’d like to hand in my notice.” Downcast and keeping her sight on her untouched food was a clear indication something was wrong. Had Draco offended her? Had someone told her what Draco did way back when? Harry finally got a look and he too gave a concerned glance towards the Healer. 

“A little sudden. Where did you say you were?” Draco had stopped eating, Siobhan had too and Harry had slowed to watch. Something was quite wrong and Draco needed to know exactly what. She was in his house, under his care as she kept Harry alive and breathing. 

“Please, let me resign,” she bit out and Draco saw only her wringing hands in her lap. Something was forcing her hand? Draco nodded once. Knowing how hellish the world became when choice was no longer there or rather no good choice presented itself, Draco agreed. 

“Consider it accepted.”

“Thank you.” Siobhan stood, abrupt and gave a short bow, “I’m sorry. I’ll send for my things later in the week. I’ll send a list of other Healers who would be acceptable.” And then she left with no further explanation. Hearing her fast footsteps, Draco waited until she was gone from earshot before he started to talk. 

“Well, that was odd.” Sitting back in his chair he stared at where Siobhan had left. Who had she seen, spoke to at the party? She hadn’t a problem in going, she’d done her job. So, why now?

“Something’s wrong.” Maybe it was the Auror training, the life experience but Harry’s fierce glare at her chair was enough to remind Draco some people might have secrets they too did not want to escape and reach another’s ear.

“And it’s none of our business,” Draco said but didn’t truly believe it. If her resignation was his fault, somehow because of his links, then he should fix it. First off, he’d need to ask who she’d spoken with, maybe Hermione or Ron would remember. He didn’t really want to speak with Ginny. Snogging her current husband was a strange admission he wasn’t sure she would believe even if he was mad enough to speak that out loud. 

“I can look up a few things, at the office, y’know.” Harry reminded him. Moran. Moran could have had one or two of his allies there. The Artefacts were hidden but would he threaten Siobhan if he thought Harry would leave the Manor too? Why else would Moran have stayed away for so long? Attacking a house with Harry Potter was a mighty dumb move. What if this was Moran’s plan? Making the Healers back away, having Harry leave-- wait. If Moran knew Harry was ill then it wasn’t as great a deterrent, so why would he stay away? 

“Maybe…”

“Draco?”

Draco jerked out of his thoughts then, waved Harry off and decided he’d go as Fornax. “Moran, the one who attacked me. What happened to him?”

“We couldn’t convict since the key evidence - the owl was gone. He was cautioned and is barred from the Emporium.” Harry sipped at tea and lowered his eyes. So, he was walking around without so much as a slap on his wrists. Coughing, fake and obvious, Harry continued, “I should probably head off soon. Y’know if I’ve to take Fornax or not.” Sighing, Draco agreed, he should hurry to the Owlery and find the blasted bird. 

It wasn’t around very often, this Fornax owl.

Fornax waited patiently, as Harry took his sweet time finishing off his breakfast. 

“Let’s go find out what’s going on with Siobhan.” 

He supposed he’d put himself in a cage for lesser reasons. 

Many of the Aurors were as uncomfortable seeing Harry again as the first time. Again, Draco was met with a few more glances, a few more whispers - which he heard clear as if they were shouting. One wanted to know why Harry hadn’t been fired, resigned or was taken from his station. Another few gossiped about someone, and finally someone asked about him, what was up with the owl, they’d discussed. 

Harry made a defeated noise and Draco twisted round to see. His desk was stacked high, paper on the floor piled higher. This was a grand amount of work to return to and Draco refused to help for any of it. He wasn’t keen to watch Potter do paperwork but if he could find anything on Siobhan or who had scared her off, it would help. Draco was certain he was missing something.

Out of the cage, Draco fluttered onto the desk. Most of the mess were reports and required a signature. Or were memos, ones which Harry surely should be able to dispose of after reading. Harry thudded down into his chair and it groaned under the added weight.

“Just don’t bite anyone.” 

As if Draco would deliberately annoy an Auror. How he wished he could roll his eyes and scoff as an owl but all he did was hoot, long and low to make sure Potter knew he wouldn’t do such a stupid thing. And then he saw Edgard Collins and shrieked at the incoming pest. Why did he need to speak with Potter right now?

“Sir, I need to have a word with you about the owl--” The man was pot-bellied and slow to move and Draco started screaming, loud enough to drown out the droning voice of the Worst Curse-Breaker in London.

“Sir--” He tried again and Draco continued on interrupting him each and every time the idiot opened his mouth. Again and again, and each time Harry played his part well and shook his head, miming he couldn’t hear. 

“Just leave the report there!” Harry covered his ears and Edgard was out of the office so fast Draco considered maybe, he was one of those wizards who was scared of owls. They weren’t like cats or dogs, that enjoyed pets and being spoken to. Most liked being with another owl, left to eat and hunt. Collins slammed the door as he retreated, white in the face. 

Harry had rested his head on his desk, shoulders shaking and Draco returned to grooming his feathers. Well, he supposed that was somewhat a good incentive for others to not interrupt him - Fornax - and Harry. Now, to find a file about Siobhan, or rather whoever she really was. Draco only knew she went to Beauxbatons and it wasn’t on any native record. Harry would have to send away for that. 

Moran’s file, hopefully, would be in all of this mess. And then Draco could guess what he was really up to these days. Had he tried and failed and didn't have the ambition to try again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, Harry and Draco be hyper aware of each other. (It just took a while to get here!) Still lots of stuff to go through, like, so much? I don't even know how anymore how long this'll be. (Smut wise I've decided I'll put that as a sort of, chapter on its own and those who don't bother can skip and not miss anything out). That'll be a while tho. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and giving your kudos and bookmarks etc. I'm still shocked at how well received this is? Like I thought, KT might like it and maaaaybe a few others. But wow. Thank you again.


	24. Blind Panic

Draco had far too much fun yelling at the Aurors who tried to enter Harry’s office. Especially the ones who did so when Harry had been pulled out by a memo from Hermione. As much as Harry had left, curtains and blinds drawn, door locked and Aurors told not to step foot inside, they still did. They flinched, they jumped back, they eyed him like he was a dragon. It was great fun. Much better than shuffling about in the Manor. 

And really, if that didn’t say ‘fair game’, Draco didn’t know what did. So, he fluttered to the light, perched on the lampshade and waited. Collins had tried three times already and each time, Draco shrieked at him and he had fled. Once even with a shriek of his own. This time however, as the door opened, it was revealed that witch with the crooked nose again. He made a lot of noise but she was undeterred. She made a beeline for the desk, stretching her hand she was about to take a file and Draco swooped down. He stood on it, a flex of his talons and a stare that surely would make some pause.

“You have to move, okay? We need this.”

Draco twisted his head. He didn’t care what they needed. They should stay outside, where they couldn’t see Draco. How else was he supposed to go through these files? Wasting his time was what they were doing. Still, she tried to slide and shoogle it from under him and Draco wouldn’t have himself outsmarted by someone who probably hadn’t got an Average on their Potions O.W.L.S (the fact he sat no O.W.L.S was irrelevant, he’d have an Outstanding, obviously). 

He nipped at the air, started to shriek less, and hiss more. 

“I told you, it’s bloody feral!” Collins appeared at the door, using it more as a shield to hide behind. The witch rolled her eyes and Draco returned the scathing look.

“If it attacks unprovoked, it can be put down.” Unimpressed with the threat, Draco stayed put. He half wanted her to try and see how she’d explain this to Potter. Just try it, dear. 

“What? No, we - you can’t do that. He’ll know we’ve been here!” Edgard wasn’t so stupid then, as Draco shot him a glance and he closed the door a fraction. 

“Shut up, Collins. If we don’t do this we might as well hang up our badges and tell everyone the Great Harry Potter isn’t half the wizard he was.” 

Harry had been indisposed at the Manor for quite some time; more than a month. How long had Hermione and Ron covered up his messes? Going by the reaction of them slipping inside and stealing paperwork, it was more likely the entire department was in on this cover-up. Not for three long years, surely not. A year at most, Draco guessed. Collins was never very good at keeping secrets unless bribed and praised often enough for doing so. 

Perhaps, it wasn’t on their best interest they snuck into their boss’s office and underhandedly retrieved files which they should simply ask for. Was Harry really this incompetent? Draco pretended to hear something at the other side of the room and removed himself.

“Where did it go? What’s it doing?” Collins asked from the door, still not peeking in too far. The witch left with a shake of her head and a scolding word on her tongue.

The issue was they left the door unlocked and unwarded. While Draco was not willing to break the small promise of being discreet and leaving the office it did provide him with new sounds. Voices and their gossip, mostly. One of which was far too interesting to pretend otherwise.

“So, what do you think? I heard it from her and she said Harry said it.”

“Hearsay, if you want to believe some Malfoy is playing saviour that’s your business but don’t drag Harry into this, he deserves better.”

Such fierce loyalty. Draco returned to the desk, peering out into the open plan of small cubicles and desks. 

“When was the last time he was even at a function? He has to be getting better. No way would the Minister let him go otherwise.”

And then, another voice popped scandalised, “He’s back. He’s smiling. He’s actually smiling.”

Harry didn’t greet anyone, at least not until he got to the entrance to his office. That smile wavered and Draco paced on the desk. 

“Is there a reason my door’s open?” 

“We were concerned with the noise. The owl didn’t seem to care for being on its own.” Oh no, no. Such tosh, such rubbish this one was spouting and Draco flew over, landed on Collin’s loaned out desk. Whom let out a churlish scream and hid behind the briefcase in his hands and Potter laughed. The witch flinched at the noise and every other Aurors and their respective consultations were watching.

“Lonely? This one?”

Draco refuted that point immediately, and nipped the file from the witch who'd stolen it. She waved him off and Draco hooted. Ha, in it now Witch. Auror or not, it didn’t take long for Harry to suss out the truth. Though he said otherwise and Draco didn’t mind the theatrics. 

“You harassed my Aurors.” Draco cooed under that compliment. Why yes, yes he did. Folding his arms didn’t help Harry’s attempt as the scolding minder as he failed to wipe that smile from his face. “You look real pleased with yourself.” 

He was. He’d wanted revenge on some of these morons for decades, namely Collins. He’d once taken a family heirloom out of his family crypt and hadn’t he just gloated about it. Hooting softly, he agreed with all charges. Sweet, sweet victory. Ah, today was such a fantastic day. Collins, pushing back against his chair made little movement and might even have stopped breathing when Draco turned to pin him with a look.

“Collins he won’t bite.” Draco heard the warning in Harry’s voice despite the smile.

“I won’t take any chances, I like my fingers,” Collin said, curling his fingers into his palm. It made Draco laugh in long drawn out hoots. 

“Okay, you,” Harry said, and the audacity, tried to pick him up. Hopping and sidestepping away, Draco sent a glare - what did Potter think he was doing? In his moment of contempt, Harry did manage to pick him up. Flapping, shrieking and in no way stopping he heard Harry say, “Don’t give the man a heart attack.” Draco didn’t know what that was but Collins probably deserved it. Draco wasn’t pleased, even as Harry tucked him up between his arm and his side and the flapping stopped, trapped. All while Harry fled from the staring Aurors back to his office. 

“Fornax, back to the office - my office and you behave and--” Harry whispered the rest as he closed the door with his foot, “I can’t let you look at personal files but those should be okay.”

Harry sat a few files down at the side of his desk, hidden if someone happened to open the door. Not as if anyone would consider an owl reading. So, Draco read undisturbed and every now and then, pulled at another file - he was curious on the contents of the others. Were they all reports of suspects, write ups of interviews? 

The answer was simple: no, they were not.

Draco stared at it. As much as Harry’s health was not great the last few months, Draco didn’t understand what he was seeing. This was a report from seven months ago. Unsigned by Harry and Collin’s request was stagnant now, for some permission on borrowing another Curse-Breaker to help alleviate some of his workload. And another one, seemingly a case file of some sort - again for the old fart. And still unsigned, non-certified and waiting on Harry’s signature.

So, Draco started to dig in the literal sense. More pages pulled up and he cocked his head to the side and read more and more. Another file here and another - this for Richards, whoever that was - and more names showed themselves. And all unsigned. 

Harry hadn’t just dodged going to work, he hadn’t overseen anything he should have. 

A mixture of loathing and pity, fury and disgust and Draco shrieked at the outrageous shit Potter still was allowed to pull. Now he just had people in higher places. Why not put Potter on leave, give someone else the job to oversee the department while he got his shit together? Why-- and Draco knew why, and it made him wish he could start yelling a few swears. His owls shrill screams would no doubt be heard from outside. Harry tried to say something but his rage was too much. 

"What's wrong?"

Hermione couldn’t contend with such a new policy as much as she needed to show her precious justice and fairness having Harry Potter ill and need time away from his station would be a thorn. A poisonous and ailing thorn every opposition would point towards. Who could possibly call themselves just if she’d worked our poor Harry Potter, saviour and all that crap to the bone?

Draco grabbed his own made bundle and dived onto the desk with such force, the thud it caused made Draco think he’d have caused splinters. 

Keen he was not to look at what Draco left for him but as he read, the more it seemed to dawn on him. “What? Collins should have had this…” And then he was fidgeting with his glasses, taking them off and cleaning them, “I’m such a shitty boss.”

So, Draco brought more. The ones for Richards, the others, the rest. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry breathed out, and now frantic he started to check them with a panicked energy, “Fuck. I’m-- the worst.” Harry started to sign them. Slow, as if deliberating and lost in thought. Draco couldn’t believe this, this laziness. Illness was a fine excuse for having shit work. Not working at all, letting the lower staff sneak and cover up for his lack of - of anything was infuriating. What the fuck was Potter’s problem? Not the Golden Boy anymore? 

How many Dark Wizard had escaped because of this bullshit?

Collin’s documents weren’t spelled from the office. Nor was he called in neither was Harry given any indication he’d hand them over. They sat, just like they had unsigned in Harry’s office and Draco’s patience was done. He’d watched Astoria die and deteriorate and she’d fought. And seeing Harry succumb so terribly was a disgusting, loathsome, tainted thing Draco wanted to see none of. Harry was supposed to be the best of them. Was paperwork so hard?

If Draco could spit his hate towards the inefficient and noncommittal attempt, he would. What Harry got was Draco attacking the door handle, desperate to open it. Harry scoffed, told him off and Draco just screamed at him. Trying again - the noise of his talons clashing against the wood and metal off putting. 

“Dr--Fornax, what are you--” Harry stumbled back, avoiding the bite that was meant for his fingers. Once the door was opened, Draco took them: the Collin’s reports and memos, the stuff Draco wasn’t supposed to see. He landed, unimpressed again at how Collins yelped.

“What does it want?” Collins whispered behind him, trying to gain the witch's attention. She didn’t pay him much mind but huffed. She was Richards, then, going by the naming plaque on her desk.

“It’s an owl. It’s delivering you paperwork.” 

Collins eyed him then, not as a threat. “Thank… you?” So, Draco left and returned to the ridiculous mass of files. 

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed, as if Draco was the one doing the wrong. 

Was he fucking kidding?

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

Fool. 

Dumbass.

Draco stomped and shrieked again even as Harry tried to placate him. How could he even think this was okay? How could he even think Draco was going to let this mountain of unsolved, waiting, pending permissions go? Richards got her batch next and she gave him no pet, no thanks but Draco preferred it. This should have been done. What even was this? How was the Aurors even working right now? Was this why it was Blaise who solved the issue?

If Potter had his - Malfoy’s request still unsigned in all this mess, Draco was going to hex him. What if Blaise hadn’t pulled through? What if-- Harry had slammed the door shut so loudly it interrupted Draco trying to pick up another stack. 

“This is enough.” Harry wasn’t even looking at him, no, he was off to the corner of the room where the biggest pile sat waiting, pale in the face. Draco would get to it eventually. As if this was enough. Draco returned to the paper trying to practise his grip. He usually carried very little and if so a time did present itself that he had to offer a present or gift, then usually string wrapped and secured the package. Or one or two letters he could carry in his mouth. This was an inch thick, at least. 

“Stop,” he croaked. 

No, Draco hissed back. 

And Harry fell onto his chair and the room trembled. Papers started to drop to the floor, Draco jumped back watching and waiting. This wasn’t the dragonblood, no, Draco felt it. A ghost of magic going over him: Harry wanted him to stop. It wasn’t fire and itching, it wasn’t powerful and dangerous - like swords ripping through the air - it was chilling cold and a crying whisper.

Why? What possible-- That’s when he remembered, when another piece slotted itself into the puzzle. Auror work was what caused Harry’s sleeping problem which caused the potion problem which caused the magic problem. 

So, it was here, then.

Draco looked back to the tallest, a hulking and madly intimidating load of paperwork. Harry knew what was there, he’d looked at it. He was scared of it. 

This was neither embarrassment nor anger. Panic, barely keeping it together anxiety and Draco didn’t know what to do. The chances of him turning back to provide any calming words would fail immediately if anyone decided at that time to try and speak with Harry again. All of Draco’s hooting and shrills were seen as sarcasm or denials not agreements, not comfort.

He needed to think. He had thought Harry lazy and it burned him. Reminding him back at Hogwarts where teachers would light up and coo over Harry Potter being just so good at his attempts and answers. All in all what was he supposed to do as an owl? Potter's hands shook and Draco looked back to the stack of files. Something was in one of them, something terrible and Draco was going to guess it might just be a report, a memo, a piece of evidence at whatever started Harry’s insomnia. What easier way to never contend with it than to literally bury it under everything else? 

Hopping over to Harry, whose arms seemed to be all that was keeping his head upright, Draco tried to coo - he was not going to continue - whatever secret lay in this room was still just that, hidden and Harry’s alone.

“Just stop,” was the lame, broken reply. What could Draco do. He had no words. Again he tried to nod, let Harry know: this was it. The end of his help at reorganising this mess. Still, Harry did not open his eyes. Frustrated was what Draco was. How was he supposed to - well, desperate times and measures and all that. He chirped this time, nipped at a sleeve and tried for attention. All he received was a shuddered sigh and more guilt.

Right. 

Another chirp, another attempt and nothing. Draco side stepped away, perhaps ignoring this would be the better option? 

That was cruel.

Definitely cruel.

Draco wondered how he hadn’t heard it before, the harsh and ripping sound of uneven and unsettled breathing. It hurt to listen to, like a vice crushing his quick extinguishing anger. He’d been wrong. This was all his fault. What was he supposed to do? How did he make this right? 

Although Astoria and Pansy were both at his side at some point in Draco’s life he hadn’t taken their involvement in trying to ease his wounds very well. Neither were the best, really, Draco liked ignoring problems. Harry probably liked ignoring them too going by how backdated his work showed. What if Astoria had ignored him during those tough days? This and that would be very much needlessly cruel. Right. Even with the inclination to do something, to ease whatever torment Potter was in didn’t matter if he had no plan. What if Harry didn’t even want him to do anything?

Draco didn’t know what to do. He scratched a talon over Harry’s arm, trying again for some sliver of notice - if Harry was pretending he wasn’t here there wasn’t much Draco could do about that. Nothing, not even a twitch. Fine. But if this was a ruse, a pretend panic all fake and worthless then Draco was going to leave and never come back. Potter could find someone else to provide shelter.

Nothing and Draco made a noise. Oh, he had done something awful. Really, really awful. He hadn’t thought-- he was sorry, he didn’t mean this. He didn’t want this. He had just-- He’d just assumed and-- Bugger. He was a terrible person. 

Owls weren’t very large creatures, Draco knew his body was a tiny, skeletal mess and his more gracious and elegant appearance was all feathers. Light and fluffy and so, so many in number. Squeezing somewhere wasn’t difficult per ce, just a bit of a wiggle here and there to move feathers and such. Trying again Draco perched himself in-between the space of Harry’s hands, palms digging into his eye sockets and his cheek. Chirping again, sounding more like a newly hatched owlet than a grand and exquisite ideal, Draco nuzzled, more than a little desperate. An action easy enough for an animal whose defining characteristic was the head twisting and turning without snapping nerves or bones.

The reaction was Harry shifting, moving away as if tickled, removed from whatever mental angst and then he stilled and Draco wasn’t sure. Did that mean he was to continue or did that mean Harry was two seconds from launching him through the brittle walls of a Ministry office? Wouldn’t do that, likes owls too much, Draco reconsidered. Another chirp, another attempt to comfort. 

Relief was a strange emotion. It implied the worst was going to happen, in this case, Draco was going to be tossed aside. That wasn’t an unfair thought when he’d caused such distress. Draco would leave himself, distance and make sure not to encounter someone like him. So, when Harry did pat at the crown of his head and Draco chirped again because - what? - and Harry sniffled a little more and Draco settled in the end, on Harry’s slumped shoulder he was relieved. Harry wasn’t crying but it might have been a near thing, especially as Draco was greeted in return with a scratch.

“Sorry, no more deliveries today. I don’t think I can handle it.” 

Draco wasn’t as naive to think this show of affection was purely such - and more to do with instinctive need to close his eyes as Luna did so long ago. Even as Harry slowed to a stop Draco made a sluggish attempt to open them. A few extra seconds was the difference between having a mask of emotion in place and the real ones leaking through. What had his curiosity now was what was in that stack of tightly bound parchment.

Chirping again, Draco dropped to the floor. 

He left Harry to himself, keeping his back to him giving the smallest bit of privacy he could muster. This was all his fault. Now, Harry was going to admit this was the moment he knew his feelings weren’t real. Whatever was in that file had truly messed Harry Potter up, more than any dragonblood could. The Boy Who’d Lived (and Died) was scared and Draco hadn’t ever seen that before. He’d fought Voldemort - and this, whatever was there - was what he was having a panic attack over.

It was strange to know Harry was scared of something. A little scary, really. 

Draco sat down, wings splayed on the floor around him and he thought. Thought of everything else but what had just happened.

Now, Siobhan had ran from the Manor in a way Draco wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She was scared or disgusted. Something changed at that party. Luckily for Draco his week of studying did allow him knowledge of who was there. Now, did he know any off the top of his head which were in the healing profession? No, not unless they were trying to come across as philanthropists and no one mentioned or asked anything about Siobhan. Not to Draco at least. And there was another possibility that perhaps, maybe, Draco was right to be paranoid. Perhaps someone else was at that party, uninvited but within the bounds of believability. Should Harry have postponed that confessed and bedroom eyes, Draco might have seen who it was. 

Harry sniffed and Draco stilled, staring at one word in a file until he heard his breathing level out. 

Moran’s file wasn’t what Draco was allowed to see - that was private and for Auror only. What he was allowed to read was the statement he made about the attack. A meek page written by Ron who wasn’t taking any risks at omitting anything. Moran hadn’t spoken a word; within the hour his father had appeared, furious - if Ron’s perception was fact and not assumption - and they’d left. 

And that was sad and worrying because if Moran hadn’t even been given a sentence, a slap on the wrist then it was possible he was simply waiting. Waiting for what? Perhaps his father had another target? Another panic, another thought maybe it was Scorpius he was waiting to use for the rings flared.

No, Scorpius wouldn’t give Moran or his father much satisfaction. Most considered Draco cold and that, that coldness extended to his son. A small mercy. For if Scorpius did end up in trouble, Draco would give up whatever necessary. He’d torture, he’d kill. He’d do whatever necessary to see the boy unharmed because he was all that Draco cared for in this world. 

Clearing his throat, Draco turned around to watch Harry pretend nothing had happened. So, Draco followed. 

“Siobhan Goven has a record.” Harry sounded proud of his find, even though his voice cracked near the middle, as he pulled out a rolled up parchment file from the back of his robes. 

Anyone going by an alias did so for only two reasons: privacy and illegality. Which reason did Siobhan have for one? Draco returned to the desk and peered upside down at the file Harry read. For a Healer, it wasn’t a worrying list of sleights. Condemning and egregious and Draco wanted to know how she still managed to find work. 

ALSO KNOWN ALIASES

The box whereby the Auror was to write was too small. Several different penmanship styles, shades of ink and Draco tried to dig into every conversation he’d ever had. Did he know any of them? Did he hear anything as worse as assault or poisoning by a Healer? Was this really Siobhan Goven’s record? He rounded the file, keeping an eye on it as if prey. 

APPEARANCE 

The photograph didn’t look like the woman who had lived in Malfoy Manor, for one, the real Siobhan Goven was a redhead with freckles. Her school said Hogwarts and Draco knew that untrue from how she had behaved. 

“Where did you say you found this Healer again?” Harry rubbed at his neck and nervous now, Draco started to shift from one leg to the next. A friend of a friend, one who was a Healer who’d taken care of Astoria. That was supposed to mean trustworthy. 

“Whoever helped me, saved me, wasn’t this woman.” Harry flicked over the pages, searching and there sat a Healer license, stamped and dated and kept for prosperity. It was familiar to Draco. Siobhan had claimed she was a Healer of many years and Draco had demanded to see references and her license. Everything cleared. Why hadn’t this flagged up?

Someone had impersonated Siobhan Goven, saved Harry Potter taken Draco Malfoy’s money, lived in his house. Draco tweeted at the gall of this woman. If he wasn’t so furious he might manage impressed. For now, he needed to know how much of a threat she truly was.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Harry said and sounded so sure of himself, Draco shrieked and refused to believe an Auror couldn’t see how this was the worst outcome ever. If Harry thought another pet, another scratch was on the table - it most certainly was not - Draco relented to a pat by the side of his face. How foolish had he been? How utterly stupid--

“Dra-- Fornax, trust me. She said she’d send for her things.” 

Well, that was true. 

“And we do have an owl that can return them.”

...That was also true.

“And that’s that.”

That’s that. What a terrible philosophy in life. Potter was still weak and out of everyone, Siobhan - or whoever this bloody woman was - was one of the few who knew it. Draco couldn’t also then hand her his secret of being an animagus. What did Harry mean, that was that. Bloody Merlin, how could Harry be so on point at times and so far away at others? What did he expect would happen? Draco would find her, chat and everything then be magically fine?

No, she’d fled. Someone, something was a threat. 

“Take a breath. It’ll be fine.” Draco didn’t wish for his optimism. Offering a vague and tiny distraction in the form of a scratch wasn’t too bad though, so Draco accepted it and ignored the dread building in his chest. Who had he opened his home to? He’d sought her out and ended up with a liar. 

It was a calming and affectionate action, as he’d told Luna. What he didn’t say, what he didn’t reveal is that Draco quite liked it too. More so than a friendly hug from Blaise or a drunken party-goer’s gratitude, Draco much preferred the ease, the knowledge that most didn’t touch an owl without great care.

“She didn’t mean us any harm, she could have killed me and blamed you. I don’t think she’s bad.” Harry snorted then, “The real Siobhan is a piece of work,” Harry faltered and paused as he dropped the tied together pages and thought out loud. “Makes you wonder why she’d pretend to be a crap Healer considering she was so keen on having her own clinic.” 

Only one option then, Draco decided. The real Siobhan Goven, whoever she was, was dead and the fake took her chances at another life. A motive Draco could understand but didn’t trust: who was she, why did she decide this was better? The dread was back, tougher and thicker and stayed no matter how often Harry patted his feathers. Everything was closing in, everything was just a little too much. How was he supposed to navigate this? 

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and Draco stayed still even as Harry rested his chin on his head and quietly - not as if anyone ever need to say anything loudly for an owl - said one word and Draco cooed back not wanting to disturb the normal Harry returning. He knew how to deal with this one. But an upset one? Never again--

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm about 40% now plot wise. Romance wise, like 20%. I'm so glad there's no limit on chapter number. (And I think I'm now over 100K words now, so yeah. I'm thinking 250-300K). I apologise. :'D
> 
> Since both are now more aware of their baggage (not specifics) they can start having some funz now they know there's some boundaries. >:3 Awkward cutsey date activate! Cue slightly miffed/jealous Draco too.
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you next update. <3


	25. It's A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APOLOGIES! Internet was dead for a few days and it took a while for someone to come and look at my burnt toaster of a modem. Super sorry but I, being the dummy that I am, I forgot to add my Google Docs to Available Offline, so I was stuck stewing with a problem of my own making. Argh! 
> 
> May you have this chapter as an apology as well as what you should have had too. <3

Whether it was the overdone transformation or the daily brewing, Draco stopped sleeping. His neck ached, his shoulders were heavy and his bones cracked. Staring at the ceiling was not productive and if anything he hated wasting time. As much as he would like to rest his eyes he could tell lying in the dark this wasn’t going to work. 

Changing out of his pyjamas, he eyed his wedding ring on the dresser. Ever since Harry kissed him - and he couldn’t blame that one entirely on Harry - the ring had bit him. As soon as he tried to slip it back on, the teeth showed themselves and Draco couldn’t wear it as they twitched, poised to bleed Draco like livestock. Abandoning it wasn’t an option neither was shoving it into a pocket as if it was a loose galleon or petty note to be passed around. Nearly two decades he’d worn it and now it wouldn’t even entertain the idea. 

He had to wonder if Astoria would hate him for doing this.

Unlike with the rest of the Manor, which had its old secrets stripped bare and acknowledged, most of Astoria’s possessions lay exactly the way they always did. Borrowing a link chain and removing the charm and glittering gems, Draco slipped the ring onto it. He couldn’t not wear it. He tucked the necklace under his clothing, the ring resting against his chest as he fastened it awkwardly in front. Once Harry’s infatuation burnt out, it was more than likely the ring would calm and be wearable again. 

Draco returned to his lab, brewed some more and hissed at the cramp. Waiting, heavy eyelids shutting on their own he hummed a tune and sighed. Boiling potions ventured into a static boredom, quiet enough for Draco to snooze, loud enough to keep his focus for a time. 

Siobhan hadn’t sent for her things.

‘Yet,’ Harry had argued. 

Keeping awake wasn’t too easy and neither was napping, a restless energy overtaking: reading the same few lines proved unhelpful, watching cauldrons wasn’t stimulating enough and humming that song only made Draco close his eyes and want his bed. He twirled a galleon from his pocket over his fingers wanting this all to end. FireWhiskey and sleep deprivation killed inhibitions and Draco snorted, a scoffing ugly noise at the thought of Harry. He hadn’t done anything, ever, in the manner Draco was accustomed. His panic at the office should have made him cautious, never mind inviting Fornax back once they’d arrived at the Manor. Was he that desperate for company? To smuggle him everywhere and simply have Draco there. Not chattering, not interacting but simply being. 

His assumptions lately were wrong. Harry was supposed to hear his answer, flee and take Siobhan with him. Not this. Certainly, it wasn’t in any plan to kiss him back. What madness afflicted him? Sometimes, in the early mornings like this Draco wondered if he’d dreamt it all. And what a bizarre dream it was. He’d sent a vague thank you to the woman who’d interrupted. 

How far would Harry take this?

The galleon fell to the floor and he didn’t have the energy in wanting to pick it up. So, Draco doodled with his quill and parchment. Upstairs, there was movement and the Manor gave him another sensation of warm bedding on his back.

Harry was on his way downstairs - those took him a little while, and Draco paused in his half-rabbit half-dragon attempt. He hadn’t seemed to take the stairs often, even at the party. Probably not strong enough to rushup and down them just yet. When he started moving again, Draco returned to blacking out the fur and pushing the worry out of his head with each haphazard stroke. 

Behind him he heard the door open and close, the footsteps slow and heavy. “Thought I heard someone moving about,” Harry said, scuffing his feet as he walked. A lie this early; Harry was a Ward of the Manor. He could feel where Draco was in the same manner Draco could tell it was him. The blotted mess ran from the page and Draco shut his eyes again. What he wanted was everything to leave him alone. Why did everything and everyone have problems at the same time. It was inconvenience at its finest. 

“Can’t sleep either?” And he was too hopeful for such a prying question. Harry’s nightmares were back, Draco would bet his fortune on it. Shaking his head wasn’t an option, even as Draco dug his fingers into his neck. 

“Hm. Aches and pains.”

“Oh, making yourself something.” Harry yawned and finally Draco managed to fight the pull of sleep to open his eyes and spy him leaning against the wall much like he’d done before. He was in clothing - day clothes that buttoned up and Draco wondered if Harry had been awake for a time and was simply waiting till Draco left his room. 

“A muscle relaxant would put me in a brain fog for days, never mind the complications abound with spells.” Not trusting himself casting complex spells was one thing, trying one on himself while he felt the call of sleep was another. Also, Draco was fine with this discomfort not so much the pain brought by those unknotting muscle spells. 

Sleep was a precious commodity, it wasn’t like missing a few hours back when he was teen or in his twenties. How Harry functioned without a peaceful night was a mystery. Another look over to Harry, who was near sleeping against the wall again. Perhaps, Harry was having a worse night than Draco was. No point for both of them to lose out. 

“We might as well test the first batch of potions.”

Harry hummed and followed just like the potions that levitated at Draco’s side. 

Six. In all his tests and trials, only six recipes gave any hope. Draco might blame his perfectionism on that point but taking into consideration how Harry was drinking one every night for years, Draco recipes had taken a twist into unnecessary or rarely used ingredients. Anything to reinforce the primer and catalyst. Anything that could knock Potter out for a night without too many adverse side effects.

Harry sat on his bed - the guest bed - and Draco set the potions down on the dresser. He had assumed Siobhan would still be here in case of more complex problems than not sleeping for a night. The guest room was cleaned up, looking less like a makeshift lab and back to the Manor’s usual standards. Harry had taken it upon himself to decorate the floor with some of his clothing and Draco rolled his eyes. This explained the hovel. As if hearing his thoughts, Harry moved to clean up.

“Just so we’re on the same page.” Harry scratched at his head. “You don’t… mind, right? Me liking you.” A thought Draco could only assume as uncomfortable had him start to ramble as his face darkened and the nerves dampened down his question to almost an apology, “Just tell me and I’ll stop. I don’t want to be pushy. I know I am pushy but-”

“Where’d that confidence from earlier go?”

“You don’t mind?” He peeked up, hopeful. Looking more ridiculous over him holding his own clothes like they’d shield him from whatever lashing words Draco would unleash. 

“I…” Did he? Didn’t he? 

The detail he liked to not focus on - to forget - was he had experienced little emotions in regards to people. Pretty people, smart people, kind people, it didn’t matter who or what they were but Draco never felt a flicker of interest. Friendship was in short supply and in terms of romantic interests? Not once, not ever. And Harry had managed it - of course he bloody did - and it was bizarre. Because it was Potter and Draco hadn’t wanted to kiss someone since Astoria. And he had snogged Potter and hadn’t really thought to stop. And that’s as far as Draco really wanted to go into that line of thought.

“...don’t really understand. Though I supposed if you say you’ve fancied me for years and that’s why you saved me from the Wizengamot I’d finally understand why you did it.”

He bristled like a cat and Draco found it delightful. “I did not fancy you at Hogwarts or--”

“--But you do now.”

Was he smug? Probably. Did he care? No.

“You are such a git.” Rubbing at his neck again, Harry moved back to sit on the bed this time facing the line of potions. “What potion's first?”

Draco allowed the change of topic. Handed over Potion Number One which was a sickly yellow that sparkled in the vial. Hesitating after sniffing it, Harry knocked it back and grimaced. Potions weren’t any good if taste was a factor: only children needed those. Then Draco sat, pocket watch in hand and started to time Harry and make a note of any symptoms, wanted or not.

His eyes were the first to lose their alertness, then it was clear he wasn’t quite able to keep his head up. And by the third minute, Harry Potter was asleep, collapsed back on the bed. Harry’s limbs would twitch violently and recoil. Restless Limbs wasn’t the worst side effect but it might lead to other problems, cramp and pain being a possibility. Potion Number 1 would need refined. The mumbling started not long after and then Harry jerked awake, a shout in the air. Draco didn’t comment on the panic in his voice.

Three minutes to take hold for ten minutes sleep. As Draco checked a few other potential issues - darkened sight and fever, Harry blinked up at him and answered his simple questions well enough. Harry took off his glasses, folded them up and put them on the nightstand. Well, this one was a failure. Onto the next, a vial of green and wisps of blue which for once had Harry drink without any complaint or foul expression. And back on his back he was, this time scooting up so his legs weren’t haphazardly over the side of the bed.

“I don’t think this is workin’,” he slurred and Harry flopped to his side, the crook of his elbow over his face he huffed and puffed. Not strong enough. Yawning wide, Harry sounded ready to sleep there and then but he never did. He grumbled and complained in a slurred dazed state and Draco scratched the whole potion off the list. What refinement and additions would achieve wouldn’t help that one. At least now, Draco was aware how strong Harry’s resistance to Sleeping Draughts truly was. 

His ego was a little hurt Harry hadn’t taken the first potion and slept like a well-fed babe. Notwithstanding, Draco was also very aware it was unlikely of any of the potions made would cure him for a full night. He’d thought each one might give Harry an hours rest. Between the two already administered, the total minutes resting was under quarter of an hour. Nothing was strong enough and as Draco cast a look back to the potions still available, he could only take a guess Number Four might be potent enough. 

“Probably best not to take too many within the hour.” Better let Harry’s system filter these potions out before he tried any of the others. 

“You could sit over here. Or’d you think I’mma do something.”

Draco had sat on a reading chair as Harry has slept, the same one he’d read the books on while Harry was feverish and dying. Draco wanted to deny that accusation - that he was scared of Harry. But he had been, a few times. Terrified a handful of times actually. What did Draco really have to worry here? With Harry Potter unable to even lift an arm or cast threatening magic. So, Draco decided to prove his point.

“Yes how fearsome you are, not even able to hold your own head up. The world quakes.” For good measure, Draco prodded Harry’s cheek and Harry grumbled and tried his best to move. He did not manage it. “I would think most would be concerned about being so out of it.” Draco crossed his arms and didn’t have to try to look unimpressed.

“S’fine, I’m in soft hands.” An attempt at what Draco thought of as a shrug had him now too self-conscious and he turned, went over and he footered around with the potions sitting on the dresser. When was the last time he’d been complimented? His face prickled warm. No, he should not appreciate such a - a silly, stupid, dumb and just, silly compliment. (But he did) and his face grew warmer. 

“That’s not how the phrase goes.” No, it most certainly wasn’t. So, he pushed the giddiness away, stamping it down and dead. Harry wasn’t sure what he was saying; he hadn’t meant that. He waited for Harry to refute what he said but all the noise came from Draco clinking vials next to each other. 

“You’re blushing.”

“And you’re hallucinating if you think you can see my face from there.” Draco slowed his movements because he was running out of things to pretend to do with them. He’d rearranged them four times already. 

“Turn ‘round then.” A man who couldn’t so much as take a step, raise his head - or his voice, now Draco thought about it - should not be capable of rattling anyone. Here be Draco, rattled and blushing. 

Potter had said he was pushy, more on point that it was a negative he should be pulled up on. A compliment might make Draco preen but he most certainly didn’t want Potter to start prodding fun of him because of it. For one he never got them enough to start to feel embarrassed over it. How Harry thought it was okay to tease him about being happy was weird and uncomfortable and Draco didn’t appreciate it. 

“Enough,” Draco bit out without much emotion that it might undercut any feelgood comments that Harry might ever say again. He held onto the dresser, a fist around one of the empty vials. “This is why I think you’re crazy for even suggesting anything.” His storming out of the room was interrupted by Harry.

“Sorry.”

Draco hesitated at the door. “I’m coming back. I’m going to collect the recipes I wrote and see what I can do.” Draco lied, he fled to the laboratory for an hour only returning with the parchment once he was sure Harry had it through his thick skull not to bring up what happened.

On his return, Harry either pretended to sleep or was asleep so Draco left knowing when he wasn’t needed. Lotty was anxious over him wandering the Manor so early, and she set to a very early breakfast. She seemed to forget Siobhan was no longer here to cook for and made too much. 

And that’s when Draco blamed his parents for him not being patient in people responding. Siobhan didn’t message that day or the following and by the third Draco was snippy and sniping. In response, Harry had announced, with Lotty as a witness, he was being an absolute git. Was it really his fault when Siobhan could’ve lied again? What if they were losing her trail? What if--

“I want to find out what happened too, worrying over it doesn’t help any,” Harry said between stuffing his face with his yet to find table manners. No subtle or obvious prompt deterred him from those awful habits. “We should go somewhere, leave Lotty to watch and see if she comes back.”

“Is this another attempt to get me out of the house?” Harry liked to think he was being sauve and subtle, his shoulders hiking up said otherwise. Where did Potter want to go? A question which wasn’t unique to Draco after so many years of Hogwarts. Leaving the Manor might be the best way to start. Either Siobhan or Moran (or his father) would try their luck. “I’ll send Lotty away. The Manor should alert us - Wards and all - if anyone tries to break in.”

Us. Normally he’d only include Scorpius with him. 

Draco tried to remove the image of swarms of people taking photographs and yelling, asking and demanding why Draco and Harry were some place, some place the same. And the stricter, stoic part of his brain reminded him about walking hand in hand down Diagon Alley and no one ever mentioned it. No one knew about it and so it was safe, for now to dally and do whatever he fancied. “And where do you have in mind?”

Lighting up, grin and all Harry replied, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”

“I’m just supposed to follow you?” Harry nodded and Draco scrunched up his nose, “No questions asked?” Another enthusiastic nod followed. 

Draco decidedly did not think about what happened in Harry’s room. Thankfully Harry seemed onboard with pretending it didn’t happen, for whatever reason.

Harry's mood wasn’t what Draco considered normal after these eventful few days. Where was the accusations he was an awful person for one? All mentioned of what happened in the office was gone. Even Harry stopping to mention Fornax did not occur and he still offered to take him back into work. Draco refused, he wasn’t sure he would ever go back. Scaring Aurors was fine, seeing Harry not be Harry wasn’t.

Chirpy, too happy. How much of this was forced? And if it wasn’t-- Wait.

“Is this a date?”

Spluttering and coughing, reminding him of the past Muggle Nonsense, Harry slammed his hand on the table. Draco sipped at his tea and waited. Sounding much too meek he continued, “No? You don’t sound too bothered over the idea.”

“You’ve had your tongue in my mouth, a date isn’t much.”

Hermione had said Harry had some hang ups on affection - or something like that - and Draco was sure the flush on his face attested to the truth of that statement.

“Right.” Harry coughed again. “So a date? No questions asked.”

How had Harry married anyone was beyond him. For once, Draco wanted to extend his condolences to Ginny. Quelling the obvious anxiety on Potter’s face wasn’t as urgent as Draco was finishing his morning cuppa. 

“It ends when someone tries to get into the Manor. Or you annoy me enough.” Draco finished the last of his tea. “Or someone annoys me enough.” He disliked the idea anyone would chat to him out there, in the world, but hanging around with Potter might embolden some. 

So, now he had a date with Potter. What a strange day this was turning out to be. 

Just as Draco was settling Lotty, telling her to spend the entire day away - not doing chores or maintenance, no not even the garden - Harry appeared beside him and said in far too innocent a tone for its contents, “You’ll have to lose the robe and cloak.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

“Forget it, I’m staying in,” Draco huffed but after another glaring contest and Draco hated he hadn’t managed to pull out where Potter was planning on going he complied with Potter’s barmy request. If Potter did snog him outside someone would see it, most definitely, Draco wasn’t so lucky to dodge the gossip-mongers for this long. 

“No, no, come on,” Harry laughed and pulled at his arm and in a whirl of colour and a pull that started in his belly, Draco was apparated away. 

“You’ll like this, promise.”

The fact that Harry was saying this and all they were standing in was a red-bricked alleyway, with soggy newspaper stuck to the tarmac and the smell of foul, wet rubbish, well, Draco wasn’t keen to agree. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Walking out, hand in hand wasn’t safe, what if someone saw? It made sense as Draco noticed where he was. Where Draco ended up he was certain no Malfoy dared set foot in. Muggles. Everywhere. Instead of stopping outright to stare the Muggles passed them, some glancing at their intertwined hands. Draco was quiet, not wanting to draw any attention as he was pulled along. 

Well, he couldn’t very well apparate out of this place. Wherever it was - though the dreary weather and street signposts hinted they were still in England. For all Draco knew this was a Muggle city a few miles out of the Manor. Inside this curious building - Muggles did like their glass panes and walls - such voyeuristic tendencies, Harry dropped his hand and Draco wasn’t sure why. Until he started to rummage in his pockets. 

He chatted with the Muggle, who sat behind a desk and again she pressed some box and out spewed some parchment from the table itself. Whatever currency Muggles used it wasn’t Galleons or Sickles or Knuts and Harry handed over both paper and coin and received that spat out parchment and Draco was very confused on what was even going on. A transaction to entertainment but Muggles had no Quidditch, no Dragon Wrangling. What did Muggles even do? What was Harry paying for? 

“Don’t look so worried. Trust me.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Not wanting to bask under Harry’s smug grin Draco scanned around the room. Where there were several Muggles - and wow, did Muggles have naturally green coloured hair - and what was that in her face - and Draco was certain he wasn’t sure what a Muggle and he, a pureblood could possibly enjoy together. They were separated for a reason. Magic was not known to them for a reason. 

“Come on,” Harry said and grabbed his hand and pulled him away down a hallway, Draco was not panicking when the very parchment Harry had just been handed, was given off to another Muggle who ripped it and then - why, why why - handed it back. What kind of madness was this?

And then there was the room. A Quidditch stand of seats all lined up neatly and what, to stare at a wall? Harry still keeping a hold of him, pulled him so they sat up at the very back, into the corner and as Draco sat down more people came in. And they too sat down. And a few more people, even Muggle children. And Draco wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

He leaned over and whispered hoping the Muggles wouldn’t hear, “What kind of cult have you brought me to?”

Laughing wasn’t quite what Harry did, that would imply some volume control. He howled, he cackled and Draco was concerned whatever Muggle Thing was going on here was already happening. A few people turned to scowl in their direction and Draco returned it in Malfoy style. 

“I’m going to buy popcorn, stay put.”

Draco was silent. So silent he wished his presence would disappear between these tacky seats and devour his very memory of this. Whatever this was and why he was here. Thinking his questions might be answered was not wise; he had more questions especially to what Harry was carrying in a bucket. Food. In a bucket. What were Muggles? 

And then the lights in the ceiling dimmed and the wall lit up. Things descended into a confusing and - definitely not - interesting time. 

What was this? It was a bigger box like from Harry’s house. And he was watching these things with strangers. And eating, whatever those puffs Harry was eating. Why Harry chose in dumping this mountain of crunchy sweets - if that's what they were - and Draco wasn’t sure he could eat them. 

Out of everything he’d heard about Muggles, he did not entertain the idea they were intelligent. They walked by magic every day and never questioned the lies handed to them because they couldn’t comprehend something as easy as a flick of a wand creating movement or fire or water. And it was sad.

Yet they’d made this, this box. With people inside it (but not really). How Harry could be so sure Draco couldn’t really comprehend. They held conversations with each other, Wizarding pictures didn’t do such a thing. Whatever he was watching wasn’t like the box in Harry’s house, this was louder, much bigger in scale. A woman nearly died and some guy rescued her and he was too shocked to say anything because that was cool but more than that the other Muggles didn’t so much as blink.

This was a cult wasn’t it? Why such apathy? He shot a look down at the bucket of puffs and realised he’d eaten most of it. A cult, a mind-controlling cult is what this was. What didn’t help was when an explosion - and again, such apathy - Draco flinched. How could they all be so calm? A huge Muggle Transport had just blown up, plumes of smoke and raging fire - and the heroes of this story weren’t even safe yet. 

“Enjoying it?” Harry came so close to whisper in his ear, Draco stilled. Nodding, not sure he could stop himself from asking only one question, Draco kept his eyes on what was going on. He was quite proud of himself to remember the little box the people used was called a phone. Harry had one. Wasn’t he an enlightened sort now. (How severe a death his father would have if he ever saw this).

By the end of it, Draco was exhausted and energised all at the same time. He wanted answers and Harry was content to give them. At least he wore a strange expression, a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“What was the name of the Transport they drove into battle?” 

“A tank.”

“And the hovering one?”

“Helicopter.” Draco nodded, kept this knowledge to himself. He’d have to find a way to speak more on these Transports. There were so many (why were there so many). Draco panicked a little as Harry walked off, as did the other Muggles - staying seated while the names scrolled seemed to be a call to leave; maybe his name was up there as a reminder to leave. He hurried to keep up with Harry, questions spilling out as he tried to prioritise them. 

“How does it work? How exactly did all--” Harry abruptly stopped and Draco nearly tripped over him. The little box - phone - was handed over and Draco blinked. What was he supposed to do with this? Without answering, Harry tapped on the screen, wrote out a few words and then there sat more words, not on parchment. 

“Here. Read. Tap the blue words to go to what it is. And do this to go up or down,” Harry said and touched the screen again. More words appeared and Draco did so. 

Read. Tap. Read. Tap. Read. Every now and again, glancing up to see where Harry was and then down again to read more. Every now and then he was certain he was slowing down and sped up intermittently. Then it was back to the phone. How could Muggles put a library into such a small, tiny device and be amazed at a simple levitation spell? He wouldn’t say it was amazing. Never. Not even Potter could rip those words from his throat. Every now and then Harry would try and steer him a certain direction and Draco followed. 

Sitting down was automatic, he smelled food though it was greasy and heavy in the air and Draco didn’t care for it. What even was this ‘box office’? Was this where the boxes came from? A factory of sorts. But for the little boxes. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

No, he was wrong. Quite terribly so. Harry had done a good thing not answering his questions for too long, this was one less thing for him to giggle over. He heard sighing and Draco continued to read up on this actor. This… Patrick man - who had an alias and it would seem Muggle’s plays were on this screen. Tap. Read. Oh. There were Muggle plays. How did that even work? How did they exit stage if not by apparition?

“Draco? Malfoy? Blondie? Oi, you?” Harry rambled, his cheek leaning on his hand. “I shouldn’t have given you it,” he huffed and slouched onto the table. 

Draco hummed, agreeing. Not even knowing most of the words - electron, neutrons - he was exposed to more Muggle History and Lore than even his Muggle Studies had tried. Draco had thought so little of Muggles. Wait. There was a page on Merlin? The Merlin? How did the Ministry not know about such a breach in--Oh. They thought he was just a character in a book. Relief was a nice find in this nest of confusing lines of knowledge. 

Draco only noticed Harry had gone when he returned and he sat a tray with various foods on top. Nibbling on the food was difficult. It didn’t look good, it didn’t smell good. He tried it after Harry urged him to just try it. 

“This tastes awful.” He shouldn’t have tried it. 

“Quick, warm and cheap.” Harry shrugged and Draco shook his head, no. This was murder to all delicacies ever consumed. Lotty would need a raise or some form of thanks for not reducing food to this, this bland mush of fat. Harry didn’t seem to mind and ate this tasteless slop without pause, decimating most of the brought food himself. Clearly, The Boy Who Lived had no taste buds or palate. Draco set down most of his food after a bite. 

“Those aren’t good qualities of food but of a bed warmer.”

Harry wasn’t the only one to laugh. A Muggle passing by did too and another turned to give Draco a bewildered stare. What was strange, in that it was hurtful, was Harry apologised on Draco’s behalf. Even though he’d laughed and this another Muggle had too, Harry still apologised for Draco’s behaviour. And Draco scowled because this was the problem: Harry would always have to check him in public, even the little things Draco didn’t care circulating. A constant need to make sure Draco was shown as sorry and apologetic was not a life he could live anymore.

Sorry, not sorry. He was happy to host parties and chat he was not happy to have his ever move taken apart and accessed again. 

“Hey, Harry, look at you,” The Muggle said and sat down next to him. Harry hadn’t introduced himself. This was someone he knew, some Muggle. He might have been younger than them, Muggles aged rather fast if Draco remembered correctly with most not even making it to 110-years old. He was stocky and brunette, unshaven and possibly taller than Draco. Draco decided he disliked him immediately. 

And Harry started chatting away, grinning all the same and now Draco was under no illusion that was for him. Still, it was jarring to sit in this place, to eat this food and have his only link to this world chat away to some Muggle who’d eavesdropped and now - now Harry was talking about the movie they’d seen. 

“And your friend? Little fancy for this place, no?” Harry was under his arm then, roping around him like a lasso on a horse and Draco wanting to scoff at the over-friendliness. 

“We’re kinda in the middle of something.” For the first time, Harry’s good mood flagged and Draco’s poor mood plateaued. Now, he had thought Harry was far too happy to see this Muggle, who hung over him and chatted only to him. A lie Draco even feel for - Ginny was right, Harry could lie. Not for very long, going by how he grimaced and scowled and tried to redirect any attention towards Draco back at him.

“Wouldn’t mind being in between you two. You slumming it tonight?”

“Don’t proposition him,” Harry snapped. 

“Come on, I’ve already--” Harry elbowed him, awkwardly tried to pull away. The Muggle didn’t seem to notice as much as Draco’s stare. “Hey, now, now. No need to be jealous. Is that the type you like these days?”

There it was, the implication this Muggle knew Harry best, knew him longer and had many secrets to share. Draco wasn’t fooled, wasn’t taking the bait and yet Harry still tried to defend him. 

“I’m just saying, if he’s so bitchy, well, you know what they say. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

This was familiar too. As much as the comments were directed towards him, this Muggle’s attention was on Harry, his focus only ever returned to Draco when Harry was looking. And unlike the ‘film’ he’d watched with Harry, Draco didn’t need defending from anyone. He was in no need of a chihuahua yapping in his defense because as a man who’d had to take on newspapers and the public, this was nothing. 

“Date.” Harry corrected, “He’s my date.” An apology was sent his way in the form of a pale face and a touch of panic. One Draco dismissed because it wasn’t necessary, not yet. Out of the two of them Harry was the one most uncomfortable. 

“I have no use for names I’ll never use,” Draco said. He didn't want to know this Muggle's name, not even how he knew Potter was worth knowing.

“Where’d you find this one? Or did he find you? He seems out of your league, Harry.”

Oh, please. As if this Muggle was even aware of what league Potter was in. This was a man who’d saved every bloody Muggle from here and across the Channel and the bloody Pond. Kindly shut up, Muggle; Potter had saved him too in that regard and it was pathetic to see this Muggle see Potter as just another nobody. Like a Malfoy would spend their time with a nobody.

Tapping on an empty pouch which had housed the mushy and tasteless chips, Draco asked, “Do me a favour, go buy another one of these.” Harry tensed and Draco was overjoyed at the gulp. He should have sent this one away sooner. “Don’t you trust me?” Draco might have sounded perfectly normal to this Muggle but Harry would know. He’d hear the sarcasm dripping from those words, see the smile that meant nothing.

A deep sigh and Harry slid out of his chair and as he left muttered, “Play nice.”

Ha.

He’d try.

The Muggle tried his best to seem nonchalant but Blaise was a better liar than this. This was Blaise with a Cackling Pox and a fever having drank a tankard of the vilest FireWhiskey. “You’re a little high maintenance for what he normally goes for,” The Idiot said, glancing over Draco. 

Wait. Was that supposed to be an insult?

Oh. How adorable.

“I imagine we’re very different people.” Draco sat back in this awful chair, the un-wood and un-metal which Muggles seemed so comfortable in, hurt his back. 

“You two are new at the dating scene, right? Am I right? Both of you sat here, and you on your phone and he was blabbing away-- you don’t have a connection love, try someone else.”

Draco’s eyes wandered to Harry’s phone in his hand and turned it over and around repeatedly. Harry’d handed it over so willingly, said nothing of his rudeness. Apparently to Muggles he’d managed to achieve a social faux pas and he had to wonder how terrible his behaviour ranked. Saying the wrong name bad or using the wrong spoon bad?

“Are you quite finished?” Whatever this manipulator thought would be Draco’s answer it was not the bravado of a Ravenclaw or the actions of a Gryffindor or even the placid Hufflepuff way. No, Draco was entirely on point; he didn’t need any magic knowledge to beat this idiot out and away from Harry. “Good.” Draco removed some lint from his arm before straightening back up in his seat. 

Harry’s grimace from earlier resurfaced in his mind.

“I own several acres of land, a Manor and a French Chateau and have known Harry since school. Am I supposed to be intimidated by your lack of personal grooming or do you think Harry will sleep with you out of pity?” Draco continued. The nostril flare didn’t stop him, or the growling swears or how he heard Harry returning, trying his best to defuse the situation. 

What he didn’t expect was the drink going over him but all it did was make him scoff. Muggles were strange. How was this anything worth doing? He could magic this away in seconds. How did Muggles typically react to this? Because a spectacle was made, that all the other Muggles hushed or whispered and watched, and two other Muggles rushed over - a manager throwing the other out, another checking on Draco’s wellbeing.

He’d thrown some sticky sugary drink over him and a petite little Muggle was acting as if it were in fact acid. She discussed something with Harry, ‘comping’, and eventually the manager allowed them another parchment that claimed a free meal. 

Harry tried his best to seem upbeat but as they’d walked off to find a quiet and Muggle-free area to apparate back, he stopped, miserable and guilty.

“I’m so sorry.” Shoulders slumped and scuffing his shoes said it all and Draco decided to ignore this one too. It was only when, in this quick found alleyway without prying eyes, Draco remedied it. 

“Why? It all went according to plan.” Cleaning up was so much easier with a spell and Draco was dry and free of the faux-orange smelling juice. “Now we have a free meal next time with zero chance that previous paramour being there.”

“I can’t believe you.”

For a moment, this was all over, the date, Harry’s feelings, everything. All he could think was Harry was disgusted and horrified over what he’d done and now, couldn’t stand him anymore. Because really, that’s what was going to end this - Harry’s morality and Draco’s self-preservation would always be at odds in the long run. How could Harry ever think this was a logical scenario? How could Draco ever entertain this idea in even the slightest-- Harry laughed, shook his head and that was that. 

Okay, perhaps the Muggle had shaken him a little; he posed the question of what would it take for Harry to lose his interest? Another, more aggressive pursuer, someone who hoarded and demanded and huffed if Harry spent time elsewhere? Or someone simply the opposite of Draco. They only shared a few interests such as Quidditch and really, many wizards and witches were such avid fans Draco didn’t feel that was good enough to add to the list. Even the points Draco assumed were correct, were similar, had fallen and burned to ash. To think, he’d once believed Potter spoiled for attention when in reality starved might have hit more than closer.

Harry took hold of his hand again, examining it and it settled the panic for another time. “You aren’t wearing your ring,” he murmured it, almost as if he was speaking his waylaid thoughts to no one but himself. Noticing it and talking about it where different subjects, his mother once taught him. Bringing up a fact he’d noticed probably days before wasn’t someone who was confident in what they were saying. Cautious is what they were.

“Not on my finger, no. You’re fault entirely,” Draco said back subdued as to what was going on in Potter’s head. To make a point, he tugged at the thin chain from the nape of his neck and it sat a little too warm against his clothing, gleaming. As soon as Draco’s hand went just a tad too close, the fangs appeared poised and ready to strike.

Harry invaded his space again, and with a delicate touch as if the metal was close to snapping Harry checked it over.

While rotating it in his fingers, he must have spied the inscription, although Draco wasn’t sure how familiar Harry was with Latin. Cheaters never prosper wasn’t the most endearing to wear but Draco had done so with pride all his own. Each time Madame Greengrass wished to see it, she’d shut up for the rest of the evening. And that’s when Harry’s behaviour was explained so easily too: Harry wasn’t wearing his wedding ring either. 

Oh. 

That was — an emotion Draco wasn’t entirely familiar these last few years — and he did what Malfoys did best. He tried to hide it away under the guise of another and wait out Harry’s inquisitive nature.

The very first galleon-chaser Draco met after Astoria’s death was Jasmine. A dark haired beauty who wanted equally beautiful things and Draco would never admit to anyone how he’d fallen a bit for her act. How she’d worked her way to receiving a few gifts here or there because Draco’s loneliness was sated for a time when she smiled (fake) and complimented him (fake). And even in her want to own and consume whatever she wished, she made it abundantly clear: she wasn’t prepared to chance being seen with a Death Eater. Hidden away was the ever hope maybe, she might change her mind, might change a little to suit Draco’s own needs. And Draco argued, even Blaise avoided public displays of affiliation so he couldn’t ask for much more. 

And here Potter was, jeopardising the lie with his wife and Draco hadn’t even asked that from him. Hadn’t mentioned a thing - because anyone who wanted Draco to hide away like a coward in the night agreed. No one wanted to be seen with a Malfoy or a Death Eater. And Draco had agreed with them too.

Harry was an oblivious sort but sharp over certain details (the Auror training less so and more having to defeat Voldemort before he graduated Hogwarts). Right now, Harry was reading the words but Draco struggled, casting a vague hope it would keep Harry’s attention until he could sort out this, these, emotions. Biting his lip he kept quiet. 

Just breathe and ignore the rising bloom of affection in his chest, blank the questions from his mind and stamp out the pulse his ears. 

Potter hadn’t noticed yet. 

Self control was in short supply, or rather all of his control couldn’t stop the strained hiccup of breath in his throat. And then Harry did notice, maybe not everything - how could he - and it was the only protection from those eyes Draco could find. The sheer concern on his face was quite extraordinary and Draco hadn’t a clue how to speak on the bizarre notion Harry was this - this attentive, this invested.

The ring’s heat seeped through his clothes, bearable but uncomfortable. Draco wasn’t keen to remove it.

“Hey,” Harry said and frowned and Draco wasn’t sure he ever felt so utterly vulnerable before. His hands fell from the ring and he spoke softly as if Draco would apparte right there if startled, “What’s—?” Draco knew what question would follow and he couldn’t allow it to form. 

This time, Draco kissed him. Maybe out of dread of having to answer with words he wouldn’t be able to say. He appreciated the care, as much as Harry might not see it the same way. (What did Harry have to lose when they were in a Muggle world after all). Harry froze against him - Draco could only hope the distraction was great enough than asking questions. He didn’t. Sighing, pulling back Draco admitted this wasn’t his most shining moment. 

His head hung low, without an easy excuse waiting in the wings to flee from this embarrassment, he couldn’t look at Harry anymore. What was he doing? Forget Jasmine, this was far more awkward, more damaging. Another rejection by Potter, bloody pest. 

Huffing out a breath - Draco felt it across his cheek more than hearing it, Harry asked, “What’s wrong? Did he say something to you? He did, didn’t he?” 

“It’s not about the bloody Muggle.” Draco putting a stop to the rising frustration with his own. Anger was better than hurt, always. Well, now he was confused. What did Potter want?

“It’s not?” Harry gulped, nervous. “Can we go back five minutes?” Yes, because Draco kept time turners on him at all times. As if he wanted a repeat of last (thanks Scorpius). Upon seeing the scowl, Harry backtracked, “Not actually-- pretend I haven’t overthought everything.” How did one pretend to go back in time? Was this a Muggle expression?

“What could you possibly be overthinking?” Draco snapped. What made him reject Draco, again.

“I thought he might have lied and you--”

Was he still talking about that Muggle? 

Wait. 

No. 

Was Potter having a laugh? 

“You thought I could be manipulated by a Muggle? To kiss you?” Impressive was one word for this sheer idiocy. Harry’s arms started to flail, his face reddened and Draco found himself feeling less like a fool. This wasn’t embarrassing for him, at all, not in the slightest, not anymore. 

“Okay, saying it out loud sounds--”

Ridiculous? That Harry was as thick as a plank?

Draco laughed, one that ripped its way out of him and he couldn’t stop. And it's good because all of those other emotions were thrown underneath its weight and now Draco was tearing up. All this because Potter was far too much of an Auror who’d spent his life finding out lies and reasons why people's behaviour changed (and he’d assumed the absolute worst too). 

“I will never let you live this down.” Draco wiped at his eyes and took a steadying breath, oh boy, this was too good. 

“I was just trying to be careful. You could ignore it and we could try again.” Sweet, if he was an idiot. Sure. As if Draco would let this prime material go. Draco might have wanted a kiss then but he didn’t want one now. No, a flustered Harry was worth more than most.

“Oh no, Potter. My ego is wounded, I might never recover enough to ‘try again’,” he said, dramatic and hamming it up to an obvious sarcastic tone that even Harry would know he wasn’t serious. 

“You’re enjoying this.” Harry’s voice lost some of its hysterical nature and now he’d settled neatly into being the target of banter. 

“I could be enjoying a kiss but sadly, my easily manipulated self must be protected from the Muggles.” Draco couldn’t even keep a straight face and burst into a series of giggling laughter. He was so glad he came out on this Muggle-date. 

He closed his eyes and sighed and said defeated, “You’re not gonna shut up about this, are you?”

“Shut up and not tell everyone how you saved me from the mean-faced Muggle? How ever will they know about your daring heroics?”

“Bloody hell,” said Harry under his breath before, tried as he might, a smile struggled to stay off his face. “I was actually worried for a second.” There was no point revealing Draco wasn’t so confident moments ago. He wasn’t going to have that talk, here, with Harry anytime soon. Best keep ignorance in this scenario. “Keep going then, I’ll get you back. Eventually.” 

So, Draco did so. Instead of returning to the Manor, they both slipped back to walk amongst the Muggles. While Draco had his fun and Harry didn't mention his soon to be revenge again.

“Woe is me, such wily Muggles. Thank Merlin you were there, Saviour of the Wizarding World or else I'd have lost everything.” Back and forth, Draco prodded Harry as they walked around and his face seemed permanently red, not once did he scold or dismiss Draco again. If anything his amusement wasn't hidden very well.

The Manor blared of an intruder in his head and both Harry and Draco flinched. He was relieved as Harry said, still a tad too careful, “Are you quite finished now? You wanna go back to the Manor?” As if Draco needed words for that last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and for reading. 
> 
> (Sorry for the delay!)


	26. The Intruder

“Give them time to think they’ve managed to slip in undetected,” Draco explained as he counted in his head. A minute passed, then three, then five. Harry truly was a man with an obsessive and one-track mind. He settled down to take rest, low on the ground but not quite sitting on the concrete but it was a close thing. Calm and from what Draco could only guess, psyching himself up for a potential duel. An impatient or nervous bounce of his leg and Draco reminded him. He wasn’t going first. Which wouldn’t be safe, not for any wizard but not a Dark Wizard who wanted Draco dead too with an ailing Harry nearby. The plan was simple, Draco would go first - it was his house and the Manor would shriek if the Head of House didn’t return first in the clammer of a break-in. 

If there were no Dark Wizards, Draco wouldn’t return and Harry was free to follow. The argument for either wasn’t solid but this was the only way Draco could take responsibility for the potential Moran and his father awaiting to hex him. If Draco was knocked unconscious or harmed too much for a fast retreat then it would be placing Harry in more trouble. On the other hand, having Harry go first was a ridiculous notion. What if his strength waned after his apparation and unable to escape, died in the Manor. Returning to let Harry know it was safe was also suspect to whoever was sneaking around. What if it was Siobhan and she only used that moment to leave again while Draco retrieved Potter? Not knowing who it was left too much up to chance and Draco wasn’t the only one nervous. 

Even being stubborn Harry could see sense: Draco would go first and only then would follow if he did not return. So, armed with his wand - Draco left Harry in a self-righteous fury at being the last to help. His hands were cold, clammy and Draco sent a quick glance behind. Potter might just decide to apparate despite what Draco told him. Pretending the intense green was from interrupting their now ended date, Draco apparated without another word.

The Manor hurled another accusation at Draco, someone was here and they should not be here because— Draco scowled. This intruder wasn’t at all on the list of who Draco thought to slip into his home. Siobhan was supposed to be the succeeding rat. Or Moran. 

“Blaise?” Draco called out, trying to pinpoint where exactly he was. Blaise was loud like his magic, all show and not much substance. Out Blaise popped from one of the rooms ahead, wand in hand and he seemed confused at first. Then he put it away, eyeing Draco’s all the same. He might know who but not the why and so Draco kept his wand at the ready. 

“Glad to see you haven’t been cursed and hexed to pieces. Was worried there for a minute.” Blaise snorted, crossed his arms and said, “I mean, should I be worried? You leaving the Manor and your potions on stasis? What’s going on? There a sale for griffin guts on or something?”

Was Draco really in the Manor so often not being here was seen as dangerous and worrisome? Maybe he should spend some more time away. “No. Why are you breaking into my house? And I hope lying about checking up on me isn’t the best excuse you have.” Not lowering his wand yet, Draco waited for a reasonable reply. What a disappointment. He wanted to see Siobhan again, not Blaise - he could see him on the worst day of his life and not bother. Siobhan was very much time sensitive and gone if Draco didn’t bribe or goad her back. 

Angering Blaise was typically an undertaking by idiots. He wasn’t the type to have certain sensitive points guarded and hidden. No, he was a man where half his jokes might very well be true and his promise to the truth wasn’t anything close. “The vote’s going to make some people bare their teeth, y’know that right? Asking for the damn gossipfest here was a stupid idea. You’ve painted a target on your back and--

Harry appeared with a pop beside him and Draco wanted to hex his poor timing. That hadn’t been the agreed upon five minutes. That wasn’t even two and a half. Preventing Harry from misreading the room, or more specifically his wand still out and a bitter Blaise nearby, Draco was forced to put it up his sleeve and hope Harry wasn’t going to ask too many questions.

“What are you doing here?”

“Funny, thinking the same thing.” Blaise’s suspicions were alive, him squinting at Potter as if he was trying to see how all the pieces fit. Granted no one, not even the ever impressive Hermione or the strategist Ron could foresee him and Harry returning from a date. Blaise wouldn’t guess that one. And if he did, Draco would renounce his Malfoy name right here. Draco didn’t try to dismiss the passing sulk between the two. Neither Blaise nor Harry could hide their negative moods and petty tantrums. 

He asked again, phrasing it as a passing thought and not a key point of logic which put Blaise in poor standing, “If you were here to warn me of political change I don’t see why you couldn’t just send an owl instead of trespassing.”

“Didn’t think I was, thought you were in.” Blaise shrugged again. “Then when it turned out you weren’t, the house got a bit uppity and I heard some windows go, thought that might be - well, someone else.” The Manor shouted in his head Blaise was a liar. The image burning was Blaise had apparated in and already armed and cautious. Curious, since Draco was not hexed as soon as he arrived either way. He’d assumed resistance but not from Draco. 

“The Manor doesn’t take kindly to liars.” Neither did he. 

For once, Blaise didn’t try to undo the damage of his words or actions, he scowled. “Paranoid much? If I wanted to murder you, I’ve had ample opportunity. You’ve gone absolutely nutty wasting in this place. Potter, mind telling him he’s sounding insane?”

For another second, Harry’s silence made Draco want to gulp and have the ability to mute his ears at will. What could he say, Draco was used to suspecting everyone and their motives. Being told he was a bit on the paranoid side by someone who supposedly liked him would hold much more weight than a prissy Blaise who said whatever came to mind when annoyed enough. What did he do if Potter did think him too suspicious? 

“Is he right? Or were you expecting to see someone else here? Like the pretend Healer.”

Doubletaking, Draco was about to shush Harry about seeing what the Manor pushed at him. How would Blaise even know her? That she was staying here (and by extension did he then know Harry was staying here?) What kind of leap was-- Blaise’s anger fizzled out replaced with him puffing out his shoulders, confused but guarded.

“You knew she was a fake?”

Well, this was too much. While Draco had hidden away his wand, Harry hadn’t. Self-preservation must’ve kicked in then as Blaise shook his head and spoke, quickly. 

“Nott told me. He said he’d met the real one before, that the woman on your arm at the party was a con artist. I was trying to help you, believe me.” The imploring wasn’t necessary, Draco didn’t listen to pleas of mercy. Never had, never will. Nott hadn’t shown himself at the party, an irrelevant factor - someone at that party was in Nott’s pocket, at least one. 

“No help needed. You can leave now.” Blaise didn’t hang around. Left in a combination of bitter insult and indignant surprise, really what was he thinking just waltzing in here. So, Blaise had ruined his plan again. Well, they still had the rest of the day. Maybe Siobhan had already laid to rest she would never return and retrieve her things. 

“She’s a potential murderer too. Still I don’t get why’d she would pick a Healer with so many issues.” Harry disarmed, shoving his wand in his back pocket leaving half jutting out. 

“I know why, Potter. That’s not the problem here. Someone scared her off. I want to know who.” Siobhan Goven had been recommended to him. By another Healer who’d cared for Astoria. It should have been enough. Yet it wasn’t, she’d somehow managed to coerce, bribe or blackmail her way to being put forward for the more discrete jobs. Now that one made sense; she wouldn’t be found out if even the patients refused to speak of being seen for any ailment. Who could accuse a Healer of illegality who no one ever admitted to seeing?

“Nott maybe?” Harry going through highschool friends was not the most efficient way. Not when most of them hated him now.

“Nott wouldn’t try to protect me even if I was the last person--” But dear Theodore Nott had tried to protect him, in some manner. He’d given him a little note, filled with terrible hints and the worst attempt at hiding his own identity ever. Siobhan, the fake one, was younger not quite a cherub’s lying face but it fit. “That’s--” And yet, Harry wasn’t in need of a Healer long term when the note was passed; he’d only started using the Casting Trees then. So, how could she possibly see Draco Malfoy would be in need of a Healer? 

Was she the one after the rings and had simply chanced upon a way to slither inside? Parts fit, not everything and Draco grappled with the possibility it was and wasn’t the woman he’d let into his house. And the worrying thing was, he hadn’t really checked on the Artefacts, not even half of them as this stranger wandered his house. Biting his lip, he tried to calm down the choking sensation, how his tongue felt too fat for his mouth. 

Because why would he check on her behaviour when he’d offered her a spot in his house? When Lotty was here to oversee the Manor and its baubles? After Harry had dismissed the crude and well, illegal switch of the potions before, Draco ignored her. She was less a person to him, he saw her station: Healer. She would care for Potter and whatever would come along with her was irrelevant. Stealing his property didn’t make sense. Was her need for a new clinic so warring she’d abandoned Harry Potter in the middle of a job, her job, and disappeared despite awaiting Draco’s final payment when Harry was cured? Did that really sound like the woman who’d try to play both Harry and Draco in handing over more money?

She did have such easy access and now she was gone. So were the rings still here? 

“What’s wrong?” Harry cooed over him in a manner Draco shrugged off. He didn’t like how Harry’s attention was no longer on accusing him of doing misdeeds. Dealing with those were easy, familiar but concern? What did Draco do with concern?

“Siobhan might have stolen something from me. Leave, while I check.” 

Harry acted like he’d slapped him across the face. 

“You don’t trust me,” Harry stated it out loud, for both of them to hear. “I’m an Auror. I’m literally the guy you tell if something Dark was stolen.”

Maybe he could show the Artefacts to Harry, have him destroy them right here and now. But he didn’t. Because how could he? Harry wasn't powerful enough to destroy them. For decades, Malfoys were married off, each party claiming love and like, respect and tolerance and each and every pair who’d ever beheld them murdered and tormented each other. Harry might not want the power in his veins, the prophecy about him but giving Harry a way to crack open Draco’s head was too much. Too much to assume he wouldn’t just ask once. Just once more. Then it would never end, always one more question. One more request. That’s how they started. 

Harry liked him, yes. Harry was a decent guy - more than decent. But both types of men: loving and decent were twisted soon enough. His lack of forward thinking, his lack of rest made his mind weaker. How weaker? Draco couldn’t say but he also wouldn’t bet his own Will on it withstanding ‘a quick question’ the rings would whisper to him.

And they would whisper, like the blue did to him and Scorpius to wear it. From the notes he’d read and research conducted anyone without Malfoy blood simply was beckoned to wear and ask - because it would give them the truth, one they desperately wanted. And infatuation was a greedy thing that wanted everything, every little secret and still it would never be enough. Draco blinked at the idea, Harry might become worse if influenced. 

Carefully, Draco chose his words. Deliberating on them for a time before he met Harry’s eye, his brow crinkled and pout a near thing. “Not with this, I can’t.” If he could protect Harry’s mind, his own Will and Scorpius’ then Draco wouldn’t hesitate to hand them over. When had Draco ever been competent in protection? 

It confused him more than enraged or hurt. For once, Harry didn’t try to appeal he should know, that somehow his feelings were entirely linked to having Draco reveal all at all times. No words which said, ‘I’m sorry’, ‘it’s okay’, ‘that didn’t hurt’ or ‘maybe next time’ passed between them. Harry picked up his faux-smile and the shrug which followed. “I have to go speak with Neville for a bit anyway. Let me know if you need me.”

Flooing to Neville was less to do with announcing his exit and return and more on the overuse of apparation today. The way he shuffled, paused and his pace was sluggish told Draco whatever adrenaline Harry was running on was gone. Neville would probably provide tea and a comfy seat so Draco was in no way concerned. When would Harry return? What could he say, he had to move fast. How long would Neville and Harry chat? What did those two even discuss?

The Manor returned to how it used to be. No house elf or others milling around the corners, no other voices raising against the arches. His footsteps were loud against the marble. What a lonely and quiet Manor this was after all this time. Over the last few months, he’d had to deal with a fair amount of noise - including the destruction and repair of his own roof and rooms. 

Out in the open, in clear sight the fakes were still floating, teasing and beckoning any thief and Draco froze at the blue and black swirling back. That one wasn’t a fake. The one which floated by it was. A switch had taken place. A switch which Draco hadn’t accounted for and now this was the bigger problem than first thought.

Malfoy Manor had only ever told him about one forced entry inside. It hadn’t dared interrupt to say Scorpius was home. The glass was removed with a flick and few words and the real ring, shining and gleaming and Draco looked away from it. 

“When was Scorpius last here?”

A replay of Scorpius arriving in the Floo, alone, flashed across his mind and was gone before Draco could grab the small details of the scene. Someone had arrived after but the Manor, unprovoked by a Malfoy guest meant it hadn’t needed to remember anything else about the guest - only that they were there by Scorpius’ express permission. Albus was on the wards, allowing him to apparate inside if he so wished. So, it couldn’t be Albus because why use the Floo? Or had they both used the Floo just in case Draco was in?

Scorpius had switched the two rings and Draco gulped back the whisper, calling for him to wear it.

Hadn’t he told Scorpius never to share this information? What was he doing? How much had he told this Mystery Guest? Scoffing and grimacing in disappointment, he should never have told the boy about them. He should have remained in the dark and now, someone else knew about the biggest weakness to all Malfoys. 

“Why did he put you out here?” Only one was switched. Hoping the other half of this pair lay inside the walls, Draco went to find it. Splitting them up was a fair idea. Not so much when both were located in the same premises. 

A swirl of brilliant blue caught Draco’s eye and he stared as it whispered in his head: 

“I’ll make the tension drain from your shoulders,” the promises said. It held little sway, even if Draco’s shoulders from hunching over the mobile phone earlier in the day tightened and twisted like a spell was cast upon them. His muscles cramped, and Draco backed away. They were much stronger than he remembered. It did beg the question: what was in the locked away room? Did it lay empty and bare, no more magic keeping these whispers to one part of the house?

Voices, loops and remnants of those who were unlucky enough to have this shackled to them, bled into his head like too many people trying to voice their opinion at once. 

“Why is she so mad? What’s he hiding? Not worthy, not worthy, she was never worthy of my name. He wasn’t what I thought he would be. Why wouldn’t she just do as I say? He never listens. He’ll learn now. She still isn’t doing it right. Everything must be perfect. Malfoys are monsters, putrid and I wish them all a gruesome death. Malfoys are the greatest, we really are the best. I know what to do. She’ll suffer for this. I’ll kill him for that. I saw what he did. She saw what I did.” 

Petty squabbles were as large and as damaging as affairs, publicly known and deranged treatment. Draco remembered his father mentioning his Aunt Bellatrix once, claimed the blood crazy and his mother was terribly lucky. He’d remembered so much of how his stern father spoke but couldn’t for the life of him, recount how his mother had even reacted to the accusation. To him, she probably hadn’t said anything, it sounded like what she would do. 

“Shut up! What a load of nonsense. I don’t need to hear your ramblings of days gone.” Draco forced himself to look away despite the compulsion to stare and listen for more. What an insight to family history-- Draco shook his head. No, he was not so easily swayed and he started to shut up his mind. Focus on one task, let nothing else in. 

Inside the wall, hidden away was another fake and another genuine. 

Scorpius had only switched two rings, not four. He’d muddled the pair up and Draco laughed. It was nice to see he was considering how to limit the damage the rings could cause. This wouldn’t do, Scorpius was never one lacking impulse and fleeting ideas - if Albus knew he would have channeled this energy elsewhere. Or at least mentioned doing so caused more problems in hiding in plain sight. Not when these blasted Artefacts demanded a Malfoy to wear them. No, right now. He might change things once more and gleeful at the idea the Mystery Guest was no longer here to see - Draco levitated the real rings away. 

He moved fast to placed them in his laboratory, under a thick sealing and silencing charm underneath the soil, burying it and apologising to the Devil Snare which was budding. And then he went to Astoria’s jewellery box, took two rings and paired them with the fakes. Transmorphing them to look like the real rings of Celius, they should trick most. Now, he really couldn’t wait until someone tried to steal them. 

He would thank Scorpius later. The Floo sounded and the ebb of Harry’s magic in the wards returned. Draco washed his hands, scrubbing the dirt from under his nails before going to meet him. 

“Back already?”

Neville and Harry were never attached to the hip in highschool, not like the Golden Trio which always were seen together and every falling out was easily documented because they’d be alone. So, his hour long chat was noteworthy since all he was sure Neville could discuss for that length of time was botany related. Harry did as well in Botany as he did Potions. 

“Just keeping a promise. Is everything okay?” Really, how he looked around the Manor as if he was waiting on something popping out was silly. Did he think Draco would just have what was potentially stolen with him, on hand for him to see?

Draco was going to tell the truth until he didn’t. “No, nothing’s different. Feeling up to more potions?” Harry moved to sit down, not on a chair - like a normal person - no he just up right sat on the floor, squatting down and falling back, arms loose and using his knees as resting posts. 

“Not really.” Harry started fixing his glasses, in that way where he shifted them around his face without much change in how they sat before doing so again and again. “We could go out somewhere else. You don’t have to spend all your time here. Maybe she’ll come back if we wait more.”

“I like being here.” Harry frowned and Draco mimicked him because what a terribly obvious lie it was. “Where am I supposed to go? Muggle London?”

“Wherever you want to go.” And that was the problem. Where did Draco want to go that wasn’t filled with people? Who might ask questions, tell tales to the papers, cause more problems? When all Draco needed to do was stay inside. No one could accuse him of being too arrogant, too meddling. Quidditch results could be read in the paper, highlights bought in picture form. Would he like to go to a Quidditch match? Yes, of bloody course he would. Would he tell Harry? No. Because Harry would try and take him there and Draco couldn’t handle that level of -- of people. 

Wrestling with the idea of leaving again, a second time in the same day was an alien idea. Really, he didn’t shop but for once or twice a month and those were only for when supplies for his lab dwindled. Maybe Potter sensed it, or saw it on his face - Draco wasn’t sure what to say. Harry did look ever tired. 

“Suppose potions it is then.” With great effort Harry got back up on his feet as if he’d been asked to run around the Great Lake and wouldn’t last a step.

When they reached the stairs, an awkward silence began. 

Sighing - and Draco could only take that as a sound against him, somehow irking Harry and ruining whatever little daydream he had about today, Harry started to pat himself down and said, “Do you want to read my phone while I potentially sleep?” It wasn’t the best idea. They really should leave and wait for Siobhan to show. A gauntness had taken over Harry’s face, a fatigue more than a simple nap would fix and Draco nodded. Harry was tired. He mustn’t forget, Harry was a patient. Still ill, still not sleeping, still not really Harry. Maybe his feelings were a mishmash of too little sleep and him being the only one around. Siobhan would have to wait. 

Not wanting to sound too eager, Draco walked towards Harry’s room. The other potions should still be there, untouched. Unless Harry had more explaining to do. “I suppose.” The little box was worth more than a Muggle library it seemed. Just how much information did the Muggles know about the world? 

Really, Draco wasn’t a fool to think he’d been given the device to entertain him. No it was simply to remove his attention from Harry having to go up the stairs, one at a time. One step, then the next leg stood alongside it and only after a few seconds did Harry try the next one. A slow, frustrating process. So, Draco kept his eyes on the phone, skim reading and standing just behind him so to stop any falling or fainting. Huffing and puffing by the time he reached his first quarter way up, Draco still pretended to read - what was this page even talking about networks for? Did Muggles have their own Floo system? 

Halfway up the stairs, Harry swayed, gripped the banister.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Harry tried to power through his shortness of breath. Liar, Draco scooped and arm and didn’t let go of him until he straighten back up, his face not as flushed. Bloody hell, and he’d managed to come across competent enough to duel. Draco decided then, Harry wasn’t going anywhere near Moran or any of the seven people who’d attacked the first time. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Draco could count the beads of sweat on his forehead. 

Potter was staying in the rest of the night. Going out again? Was he barmy? Only the silence stopped when the box moved in his hands and a loud tone-deaf song played. If anything, Harry seemed greatly amused by it. (Draco did not flinch). 

“Harry,” Draco panicked, “Harry, your phone is yelling at me. I didn’t do anything.” The very face of the phone had changed, as if it were somehow angry, ready to spit and swear at him going by how it convulsed - until he read the name Neville and then Draco was simply confused.

Resisting to launch the phone as far away from him as possible, Draco handed it back as fast as he could. Meanwhile Harry turned to sit on top of the last stair, wearing the same grin that might split his face.

What occured after was Harry talking into the box, a feat Draco was aware happened but had never seen. It made Harry look madder than anyone at Mungo’s. He could hear another voice but it wasn’t clear and all he had to go on was Harry’s side of the conversation. Eavesdropper wasn’t what Draco wanted Harry to think about him and he tried to ignore it. He did. Honest. He was staying here so Harry didn’t accidentally tumble and break his neck. 

“Neville, yeah, that’s right. Really? Cheers. No. It’s alright, you’ve done loads. I’ll send you a picture. Yeah. See you. Hope so.” It took all of Draco’s self-control not to ask about what was making Harry’s eyes practically twinkle. Paranoia said it was a conversation all about him - or was that his ego? Offering the phone back, Draco refused, not now when he knows it might yell at him on someone else’s behalf. 

“Ready or are you going to rest on the floor like a house elf for the rest of the evening?” Crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look unimpressed at the way Harry opted for the floor - opposed to furniture was a habit he hadn’t seen or could understand - Harry shrugged.

“Hard choice that.” Harry was far too pleased with himself and Draco blamed the phone call for it. “Care to help me up?” He shifted forward, as if Draco would fall for this act. 

“I’d say you were up to something all on your own,” Draco said, watching and waiting for any clue. Now, what could Neville possibly tell Potter which would perk him up so fast? Harry laughed, a noise which fluttered at his stomach and soothed his ego.

“Exactly. Good. We can go tomorrow.” He wiped his hands on his trousers before stretching up to the banister and hauling himself up to his feet. Despite the effort needed, the way veins raised under his skin Draco didn’t help, didn’t offer a hand because he was certain Harry didn’t actually want help. He’d sulked and bickered and hated how he hadn’t walked up those stairs to the lab before. 

“I didn’t agree to anything, anywhere,” Draco sniffed. Out of range to fall down the stairs meant Draco didn’t need to hover near either and slowly, he returned to going towards Harry’s room. 

“Too busy are you?” Harry shouted at his retreating back. 

Ha, as if Harry had much of anywhere to be either. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” Draco retorted using Harry's own words. He left Harry laughing as he ducked into the room to check on the two potions. He’d try Number Four first. Maybe Goven wasn’t here but it didn’t mean Harry’s problems were gone so Draco would have to work harder and faster to alleviate the sleep issue now no Healer was around. 

When Harry collapsed onto the bed Draco sat the newest potion down. Without taking in the sight of the new one, Harry drank fast and after still gasped for breath. 

“Dizzy? Or are you drowsy?”

“What’s the difference?” Harry was pulling off his glasses, folding them into themselves. 

“Your balance or your eyes?” Draco didn’t need to ask as Harry’s eyes shut, his arms limp. Easing out the glasses from his slack fist, Draco placed them on the nightstand. Harry was asleep again. Good. Draco took his stop on his reading chair and kept the pocketwatch out. Less than a minute to sleep, it was getting closer. But as Draco saw, even with this one, Harry’s nightmares leaked through. Not violent or stressful enough to wake him. No flinching or muttering but his face remained permanently in a frown. 

Draco was giddy when the clock continued to go by hour after hour. This might be it. This might be the one. Every time Draco saw Harry twitch or shift in his sleep he held his breath - just stay sleeping, it was obvious he needed it. Three hours passed and Harry groaned before he blinked awake. Well, it was much better than previous attempts. To see how rough the after effects were, Draco asked him, “Are you okay?” He went over to check just in case Harry was too out of it to answer.

“Go away,” Harry said into his pillow, a murmur and slur all together and Draco tried not to feel tired at the sheer sound of it. His temperature wasn’t high and his forehead was dry to the touch, not in any danger of any magical metabolism shocks or overheating flashes. His eyes were dimmed and dark and Draco wondered if he’d awoke not because the potion had worn off but because the nightmare was too much and managed to force its way into Harry’s dreamless sleep. The wedding ring radiated heat, more than what was comfortable against his bare skin and yanking it out to lay against his clothing, he sighed.

Astoria was bed bound near the end.

“Want to go back to sleep?” Draco whispered back not entirely sure if he should allow it. Harry’s answer was a hum. He glanced at Harry’s shoes, still worn and really they seemed older than Draco and Harry combined. This was a man who was worth more than Draco was - maybe even twice over - and he still wore these awful scuffed shoes. Probably best remove them. “Lot--” Right. Not here. He was quick in casting a few spells to remove them and to pull the cover a little higher. The nights could be cold in the Manor not just because of the weather but Muggle plumbing might be a fixture but their heating was much more intrusive and not added. 

Draco closed the door and suddenly unbalanced, he wondered what would happen if this was it. The real solution to settle Harry’s insomnia and in time cure his nightmares. What was another point, a more pressing matter, Harry had two homes, two places other than the Manor to stay. When Harry left, it was doubtful he’d want to return, not here to this place of horrid memories. 

Every half hour, Draco checked to see if Harry was still sleeping, still breathing. Until Lotty returned and he hid in his own room for the rest of the night. His makeshift necklace rested on the nightstand, too warm and heavy against his skin to wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but updates will be a wee bit slower for the next week or so and should pick up again after that. (Just got a lot of running around the last few weeks and next week to do and that should be me back to my normal routine). 
> 
> Some more fluff next. And then angst. And then more fluff. But yeah, okay, super excited for the next one. :3 But we get our first interaction of Draco with something fluffy and Harry realises just how bad 'blacklisting' really is. 
> 
> Much love to you and thanks very much for reading this far!


	27. Draco Malfoy's Weakness

Draco stared up at the sign and wanted to run. Not apparate because there would be no way to focus on anything other than the words: The Careful Adoption of Magical Creatures Association going around in golden and silver script. Harry stood at his side, smiling and not understanding the sheer horror this place brought Draco. For one, he remembered going inside when he wanted to purchase a crup for Scorpius and yet he’d already been blacklisted. And it didn’t matter what Draco said, didn’t matter how much he asked to speak with someone else or question what and how his whole line were barred from owning something entirely stupped in pureblood elitism. Funny, really that out of all the things his father had bragged about, never could they be good enough to buy a crup. 

“This isn’t going to work, Harry.” Draco was pulled out of the Manor in the earliest hours, when the foxes still shrieked and their cubs played with each other out in the open. Draco wanted to return home and never leave. 

Harry didn’t understand, but he would. It was the worst of the whole thing really. Because Harry would push and push and pull Draco through those dark double doors and chatter away to everyone about buying a crup and then he would see-- see what a blacklisting really, truly meant. It was embarrassing not in the way a half-revealed secret was but a wave of shame like the scars on his arm showed everyone. Looking at him, Harry wouldn’t be deterred, he didn’t understand. When Harry realised he really couldn’t buy a crup, he hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed. Draco wasn’t keen to share his excitement, even at the chance to see one but adoption was never a possibility. Never. 

“Mr. Harry Potter! A pleasure--” Draco was stuck because it was the same heavy, grumbling man that rejected him years ago and Draco wanted to vomit on his newly shined shoes. One look told him it wouldn’t change, no matter who was with him. Not even the Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I’m sorry, the Malfoy family is blacklisted. He will have to stay here while you see the available hounds and pups.”

“He’s coming with me to see them.” Harry smiled and dismissed him in a way the receptionist must not be used to as he stumbled to argue.

“No, sir. He really can’t go see them. Any of them. He will wait here. Please, Mr. Potter, why don’t I call Freya and she can show you our new litter?” 

Oh, no. A litter of tiny little crups? Newborn crups? Urgh, that would be adorable. Maybe it best Draco didn’t see - he wasn’t sure he could keep his expression cool and neutral. Cool and neutral, right. Draco sighed out a steady breath, he was just standing there, Harry was talking and still he hadn’t felt like a kid letting the adults talk even when he was a kid. So why now? 

“I’m buying it for him. So we have to see them.” Draco’s eyes went to the ground and he hated it. Hated how he knew what was coming and he wanted to interrupt to say Harry was here by his means. Harry was kidding, he would laugh and the receptionist wouldn’t do what everyone else did.

“I’m sorry Harry Potter but by saying this it does mean we must add you to the blacklist too.” Whether the smile was fake up till now or Harry really hadn’t considered it to be this difficult, his cheer faded.

“I saved you, didn’t I? From Voldemort?” The receptionist didn’t just flinch, he nearly whined at the name. 

“I am sorry, Harry Potter, I’m so sorry. It’s policy!” He stood and then fled down the hall, “I’ll get Freya, sir.” His loud stomping through the wooden floorboards rebounded off the narrow hall. 

Now was his chance to escape. “Harry this isn’t going to work,” Draco said again. He wasn’t going to plead, as much as he was close to doing so. Having been here before, having the expectation and having it crushed and killed Draco didn’t want to do it all over again. He couldn’t hope for this. He couldn’t even begin to hope for this. 

“We only have to see them,” Harry said again - that was all he kept saying today. All Draco had to do was pick one. All he had to do was take a photograph. Harry better not think of coming in here with his Invisibility Cloak and stealing it because even if that was tempting - quite bloody tempting, maybe that was it - Draco would be found out in days at the theft. 

Highheels clinked against the ground and a grey-haired witch with squared specs made a beeline for him. “Harry Potter, a pleasure.” Freya shook his hand, smiled at him and only did her facade drop when she spied Draco. “I’m sure you’ve been told Mr. Malfoy why we cannot allow a crup to be purchased by you.”

“You did say last time I was here. Excuse--” Harry wouldn’t have it. He grabbed onto his elbow and Draco froze. Oh, this was the worst idea. Second only to snogging the bloke at a politically charged function. 

“I’m here this time. So we can go see the crups that are available.”

“I understand the sacrifices and I appreciate all that you’ve done Mr. Potter but I cannot let Draco Malfoy or any Malfoy near our creatures. Please understand it’s for the safety of everyone.”

Draco was pretty sure he was okay with that explanation. What was he supposed to say? He shuffled away, just far enough Harry had to let go.

“No.”

“Mr. Potter, please be reasonable. I will have to ask you to leave the--”

“So you are being discriminatory about your clientele, Freya?”

“Nothing of the sort! Blacklisting is to make sure poor owners, ill-equipped witches and wizards don’t have a crup which could hurt Muggles. Malfoys have always been very vocal on their disregard for Muggle safety. Blacklisting also makes sure just because someone has money or a large quantity of friends, they can’t bypass those rules. No matter who that friend is, Mr. Potter.”

“This is what’s going to happen. We’ll leave.” His stomach dropped, he hadn’t really considered being able to adopt one but hearing Harry give up was disappointing. Now, now surely he saw how useless-- “Once we sit in a room and get to see the available crups.”

For once Draco wasn’t regarded as something eagerly to throw from the premises. Freya looked him over and after her lips nearly thinned to nothing, she spoke, “And we’ll have no repercussions of this? You won’t purchase one? You won’t try and slander us--”

“No. None. I promise you.”

“Then he will not speak. Mr. Malfoy you will not speak to any of those crups.”

Harry near bristled at the order and Draco could hear how confused and bizzare it sounded to him - he didn’t seem to know much about crups. He knew, Draco could hear the implications he was untrustworthy in every which way.

“What why would--”

“Crups are wizard companions, Potter. Purebloods are their favourites by nature. Although, if I were to say I wanted one of them then they’d be quite happy to walk outside and tear anyone apart who tried to stop it.”

Of course, Draco was not impulsive as much as he’d like to be and calling on a crup and demanding its loyalty might be easy, incredibly easy all it taking a few works. 

“He won’t say he likes one in particular but he’s not going mute because you don’t like him.”

Freya looked down her nose at Harry and he and Draco didn’t appreciate it. “Draco is blacklisted and the fact that he’ll be in the very same room as unadopted crups is miracle enough and I will say, Mr. Potter if not for what you’ve done, I’d have had you blacklisted from the second you spoke to Jeff.”

Gulping at the prospect of being allowed to even see the blighters was enough to silence Draco right there. He wouldn’t make a noise. The threat sadly didn’t glide over Harry’s head as all attempts should when dealing with someone who held something which was needed. “Blacklist me and I doubt anyone will be pleased to work with you.”

Too much, too heavy handed and Freya might just repeal her good graces so Draco pulled at Harry this time, glaring at the badgering way Harry would speak with some people. He really didn’t do well with authority figures. 

“Let’s not interfere with crups being adopted. That’s not going to help anyone.”

Freya shot him another foul look and Draco met this one only because Harry seemed to be losing his temper. Whatever plans Harry ever had was never completed because of his poor lack of self-control.

“If you try to steal or force an imprinting--”

“I’m the Auror department head, I’ll make sure he plays by the rules,” Harry interrupted her and Freya walked off. Only because Harry followed her did Draco even think they'd managed to talk their way into a room of crups. 

So no adopted crup, Draco sat down and waited. It was more than he had before. There was no way he should be disappointed. It twinged though; he supposed hearing Harry's ridiculous bravado might have rubbed off and made Draco just a little bit more expectant. What was he expecting to wander in and be handed one?

“Trust me.” Harry sat by him but not too close and Draco wondered why. Until the door opened and out came a barrage of crups of varying size and colour, Freya standing looking anything but pleased. 

Draco was going to die. Die right now and be perfectly happy. Because the amount of tail wags he received, so many curious snouts coming over to sniff at check if he was pureblooded - they didn’t seem to bother much with Harry for once in Draco’s life - and Draco took on the responsibility to give them all at least one pat on the head, a head scratch. Whatever the bloody things wanted, really, and Draco hated it. 

Because he had an audience so bit into his tongue and didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word, or make any strange noises at them or coo over the little black noses or the swishing tails. Some even had forked tails still that hit others in the face as they crowded around. Or the excited barking over seeing him. And then it was over. As each crup came forward to receive a pat, a vague hello if anything then Freya and Jeff would order them away and they would go, no hesitation. 

A full room of crups dwindled away fast and Draco could tell they were ordering the ones they thought the most rare or pure away first in case Draco did try something. It left the encounters cold and Draco waved them away, knowing he wasn’t wanted here and simply wanted to go home. 

“Mr. Potter, a word,” Freya snapped at him and Harry told him to stay and sit for a bit and Draco was grateful. Grateful because as he collapsed against the seat he’d been perched on, he realised how exhausted he was now. This hadn’t been a good idea. He sighed out loud and closed his eyes. He just wanted to pick them all up and run off with them honestly. Quidditch was his favourite sport but give him a crup to spoil over any day. 

Maybe he really would be a shitty owner. Maybe he would do-- a noise, repeating and constant had Draco open his eyes and look around.

Thwump.

Thwump.

Thwump.

The noise came from under the armchair. And the first thing Draco saw was the wet glistening nose. 

“You’re a half-breed aren’t you?”

Its colourings weren’t common for a purebred crup, flaxen with a white undercoat. The typical spots and blocks of colour were nowhere on this one. The black nose was sunburnt brown for the most part and a crups usual solid black eyes were instead brown and big, not intimidating in the slightest. It stayed hiding under the chair, clearly used to being told to piss off by anyone lucky enough to be inside here. It tried to watch Draco, without making eye contact and would look away every few seconds before trying to look back.

Draco glanced back to the door. He’d said he wouldn’t command the crup, wouldn’t push for it to imprint on him. He waved the beast over to get a better look at it but it didn’t move. Another look back before Draco moved slowly to sit in front of the chair. He wasn’t brave or stupid but an opportunist and this was one he was happy to gamble on. 

Thwump.

Thwump.

Thwump.

Its tails - long and fuller than any of the others and not a trait of a crup but of a Muggle companion - hit against the chair leg and Draco wondered how that couldn’t be sore and as Draco lent down, the tails sped up, until the crup was shifting from side to side in a barely contained excitement. This one had its two tails still and so it must have been confined in Wizard only areas. Most crups had the second removed so to blend in with Muggles just in case. Finally, Draco could see why this one was ignored. A large crup was only a bragging point if it was a purebred, going by how the texture and flow of the fur -- Draco could guess this might be a quarter-crup at best. 

Anyone who came here for a crup didn’t leave with a quarter-blood. 

He let the beast sniff at the air before it crawled on its belly forward. Draco gave the creature a well-deserved pat on its head once it poked its face out from under its hiding place. The crup wriggled out of its hidey hole and sat up, open mouthed and panting - the goofiest, most ridiculous smile on its face. Now that it was standing proud and pleased, Draco could see it wasn’t just a little bigger than the typical crup. No, this was easily sitting at his hip if he stood up. The fur wasn’t close cut either. 

Thwump. Thwump. Thwump. The tails didn’t slow down any, they just swished on the ground, still managing to hit the chair. Where did Harry keep his Invisibility Cloak? He was taking this one. They could go to France. France had lack laws for crups.

“Sorry,” he told the adorable beast. Really, he wouldn’t mind even a quarter-pup because clearly no one else would adopt this one. “You’re stuck here, aren’t you?” If Draco had been brought into this room as a child, he wouldn’t have wanted this either. Because it wasn’t what a crup was in the Wizarding World, it wasn’t like the other status symbols or small and easier to hide away. Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have given this one a second glance back in the day. Time changed perspectives and Draco was certain this one was meant for him: clearly the breeder at least had taste - the bloody thing was practically the same shade his hair was.

It whined a high pitched noise that ripped an ‘aw’ from Draco’s throat. And no one was here to hear that, thankfully. And it tried to move closer before resting its chin on Draco’s arm as he made sure to commit this to memory. He wouldn’t get another chance. It didn’t lick at his face and when it moved, Draco expected slabber and drool to ruin his clothing but it didn’t do that either. 

Okay, he wondered if he could apparate with it. Could someone apparate countries? France couldn’t be that far away. Sitting back on the couch, no longer having to beckon the animal out of its shell, it followed. He tapped his fingers on his leg as he watched it - he really shouldn’t say anything. Just in case. He promised he wouldn’t just mutter a commanding ‘you’ and be done with it. The problem remained if he did, it was always possible the animal would be destroyed to stop Draco from owning one. No, he wouldn’t risk that. 

“Don’t take any nonsense if anyone insults your fur - it’s the same colour as a Malfoy, that’s obviously better than all those other mongrels.” The crup listened, and Draco stroked and gave it all the pats the other crups missed out on. 

The door reopened and flinching away, Draco was relieved to see Harry. “They left one?” He seemed to be unable to pick what to look at - Draco or the crup. He closed the door too carefully that Freya or Jeff must still be near.

“Was hiding under the chair,” Draco whispered back not wanting to go just yet but knowing the time was approaching. He really would have to leave this one here. Harry sat next to him - he tried to give it a pet but it moved away to sit at Draco’s other side and rested its head on his knee. 

“This one then?” Out came the phone and Harry took a few pictures before pocketing it. Draco didn’t mind, he continued, he gave a playful tug to the beasts ear and it jumped back, tails going everywhere and its front low on the ground. “I thought you were kidding when you said purebloods were their favourite. They practically ambushed you.” Harry seemed to find something funny, “This one really likes you.”

“Of course it does. It has taste.” 

He wasn’t sure if dogs - the Muggle pets trotted - crups certainly didn’t. This one certainly was trotting around the room, pleased and a tad arrogant over all the attention. Draco agreed to himself - it should be happy, this crup was the first in generations that had even seen a Malfoy. 

“So I have good taste too?”

That wasn’t the first fishing expedition Harry had went on. Looking back, Harry had given him some bold and obvious signs he was interested and others were more… well, Draco smirked at the idea, “You just want me to compliment you, don’t you?” Harry went red and quiet and Draco debated on what he was supposed to say. Surely any compliment said then would seem disingenuous and only said to appease Harry. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry said after a time. 

Harry didn't speak but the crup did. Howling and grumbling low for all of Draco's attention - really his duty to provide it to such a creature - and Draco monopolised the time. This was the first and last time he'd meet a crup. Now, he just had to remember every detail, everything so he could rewatch it in a pensive for years to come.

The crup’s ears twitched and off it ran, nuzzling and scratching at the door before it opened and Jeff looking grim and he mentioned they should both leave. Now. Draco didn’t need to be told again. He grabbed at Harry and apparated as soon as they were outside.

Throwing himself down on the couch, Draco said with little dramatics, “I don’t know if that was a special type of hell or heaven.”

“That blacklisting stuff is crazy. That Freya woman actually lectured me.” Draco had to look over to see how Harry had even managed to say that with a straight face. It certainly made the jittering energy of being in a room surrounded by pups and hounds he wasn’t allowed to have a release in the form of derisive laughter.

“You’ve never been very good at being on the receiving end of a lecture.” Whenever he did receive a lecture and not extra House Points. Harry didn’t find it funny and chose to sulk all the while Draco found his new found energy too much to contain. He wanted to go back and redo it all over again to give different crups different attention and spoil them more.

He had work to do though and the laboratory and all its potions and ingredients were in top form now Draco held a recipe which did - not perfectly - allow Harry some rest. He brewed another one, this time altering the percentages of bitterwort and hoping the increase in potency would end Harry into a proper dreamless sleep. Not one where the nightmares would show up as the potion wore off. 

Lotty was not there today either, sent away again to see if Siobhan might chance her luck and so Draco missed his lunch and then dinner. He’d pulled himself out of the lab around seven, after pouring another Number Four potion and flicking his wand having it speed away to Harry’s room for when night fell. 

He was hungry no more than he was sore. His shoulders might as well have cramped indefinitely and Draco perched on the couch in the sitting room and wished them gone. All this leaning down and over was doing awful things for his posture. Closing his eyes he tried to ease the pain by stretching his neck but it didn’t help any. 

“Didn’t you make a potion for that?” Harry’s question broke his careful concentration and he’d jumped, a pain flared down his neck. 

“It’s not permanent. Obviously,” snapped Draco not in the mood for silly questions. 

“Want to know how Muggles get rid of it?”

Sighing, Draco had to say he was a little sick of Harry wanting to show him Muggle life. Their ways were long and tedious. Cleaning clothes wasn’t just charming a few items and leaving it; it was another machine, and then another machine after that. Then folding, by hand. “It’s not another bloody box is it?”

“No.” Harry became uncomfortable again and Draco paused to hear why. He was shuffling and scuffing those horrid shoes again. “You’ll have to take--”

“The robe and cloak off?” Draco rolled his eyes, he hadn’t really thought to remove them when returning. He’d half expected Harry to demand to go somewhere else. He’d mainly been attached to his phone the last few hours. Draco scoffed and sat both to the side. In a manner closely resembling his animagus form, he watched Harry walk around the couch and Draco wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to think. 

“You have to look forward.” Harry was far too pleased with whatever this Muggle thing was and reluctantly Draco turned back around and stared at the closed Floo. 

He wasn’t expecting Harry’s hands on him and he leaned forward, away from their unfamiliar warmth. “What’re you doing?” 

“Muggle Things? Trust me, you’ll feel better.” Harry’s faced morphed akin to a mixture of nerves and embarrassment. “If I do it right.” 

Was this really a Muggle Thing? He had heard some Muggles push on someone’s chest to keep them breathing and heart beating - that didn’t really work, did it? - and this sounded just as useless. What did he have to lose? A sigh, trying to sound irritated and demure of this whole affair, Draco turned back around. Harry wasn’t going to throttle him at least. 

“I can stop if I’m no good. I’ve not really done it much either.” 

Well, what a vote of confidence. 

“Could you just get on with it?”

The heat seeped through and for the first few seconds, Draco considered this very moment the worst idea he’d ever had. It hurt, the bones clicking and the muscles solid and knotted and furious over being touched. It changed as soon as Harry eased off only to start again. 

If Draco was an impulsive sort like Harry, he might have listened to the part of his brain that told him to push back or close his eyes or bloody well grab at Harry’s hands and push them further down or demand him to do it harder. No, what Draco did was started to tilt his head, occasionally, slightly, so Harry wouldn’t ignore that side so much. 

And Draco kept his lip firmly between his teeth because when a section of tension practically disappeared after months of being there, so obviously being there and being a pain, it was the only way to stop it. Stop whatever noise was stuck in his throat and Draco was not making, never ever. 

“You have to remember to breathe by the way,” Harry laughed and Draco in response huffed one out but found it difficult to stay silent. He curled his hands on the edge of the couch, desperate to keep in control of all his facilities. Whenever Harry pushed hard enough, a tingle, fast and buzzing would go down his spine and he struggled to keep his eyes open, mouth closed and focussed. 

Harry found a stubborn bit and he dug at the top of his shoulder blade and Muggles were geniuses. How the bloody hell had the Wizarding World been stuck with potions and some uncomfortable spell and they had this? He sat up a little straighter but made no other movement in case Harry changed, or moved, or stopped. (Don’t stop). 

And then he felt Harry’s fingers without the layer of clothing as an intermediary when he started on his neck.

All of it happened just a bit too fast and Draco couldn’t stop much of anything. 

First, he failed. A failure more astronomical than any Muggle Thing should be able to give a wizard. Like a curse or a charm or hex or jinx, Draco groaned at the feel of it - one that started low in his stomach and seemed to stretch on forever - and Harry didn’t help by pushing the niggling ball of muscle harder and in that split second Draco thought, frenzied and uncontrolled. More. And then the long forgotten urge to feel more - more skin against skin erupted and Draco didn’t even try to stop that sordid noise he’d made. And in those short seconds he’d thought of nothing other than the hot hands on him and how they made him feel so much better than he’d felt in years.

It hurt then, at his chest, a horrid flash of burning and Draco yelped. He lurched forward, panicking as an intense flare of pain, searing at his skin, he saw it - his wedding ring was burning, tarnishing black and bronze, through his shirt; it looked disgusting as it disintegrated. The shirt around it was burnt and gone. Bubbles popped and oozed and Draco apparated upstairs, terror and guilt too much to share. He ripped it from his neck, the chain snapping and Draco tried to keep it together.

“No, no, no.” Draco tried to keep it whole, trying to catch the spilling droplets only for them to burn his skin. But it didn’t stop, the once shining and bright platinum and silver melted and curdled and Draco was going to be sick. No, no this couldn’t be happening. He could hear her, he could hear how everyone would look at this.

He hadn’t really loved her.

He heard Harry yell his name, worried. “Keep him out,” Draco snapped at the Manor and he felt it rush to slam his bedroom door behind all the power it held. 

“Shit, shit. Astoria I’m so sorry,” he begged, he pleaded for the ring to stop destroying itself, it all but melting into the carpet. “Please stop.” But it didn’t and Draco wept. It - It was gone. His wedding ring to the woman he loved for so many years, that he’d kept so, so carefully clean and now it was gone. His chest hurt both inside and out, the skin burnt and inside an emotional mess. He couldn’t say which one hurt more.

Astoria must be so? Disappointed? Mad? Betrayed?

“Draco? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” He sounded out of breath and tried to open Draco’s bedroom door but it stayed locked. “Open the door.”

“It won’t stop,” Draco whispered as he could only watch as parts of the ring melted and dribbled and the carpet turned black too, crackling and filing the air with sulphur. He wanted to be sick and maybe it was because of the smell or maybe it was because of how hard and awful he sobbed because now - now he didn’t have anything of hers. 

What was he supposed to do?

He didn’t hear what Harry said. He didn’t feel what the Manor sent him and he most certainly didn’t even notice the door had unlocked itself until Harry was at his side. “Bloody hell, you’re bleeding, what happened?” His hands were still so very warm and Draco shook his head couldn’t not look a it, couldn’t even blink away from the sight. Harry tried to pull him up to his feet, but he had no energy, no will to do even that. 

“I can’t even pick it up.” It wasn’t even a ring anymore. A splatter of metal, burnt and dead, no longer carrying any curse or any promise. “I love Astoria,” he croaked and Harry tried, he did try and Draco could tell he was trying but he couldn’t - he couldn’t. 

“Everyone who’s ever heard you talk about her knows that, Draco. She probably knew it best.”

If Harry hadn’t-- Draco shoved him away, as hard as he could, the blood on his chest burnt black and nipping in the air. “This, this is all your fault. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone, why did you have to do Muggle this and Muggle that and--” the snarl dwindled, the misplaced rage unable to beat the hollow knowledge he’d failed, failed Astoria to do the one thing he’d promised to do for her. “It’s all I had left!”

Even the chain, broken at first by him was gone too. He’d wanted to prove to Astoria and her family and everyone else. Now he couldn’t. He wanted to get away, away from this and away from Harry. If Harry hadn’t, if he hadn’t said a thing he’d still be wearing it. Swaying to his feet, his eyes were blurred and his face stinging and still he didn’t miss the way Potter was looking at him. Like he was pathetic, someone to be pitied. Oh, fuck right off.

“This was the only proof I had that I ever loved her.” Even his parents had considered Astoria a rebellious phase to show his grievances. No one ever seemed to believe he was capable of loving her. “And now it’s melted into the bloody carpet and it’s-- and it’s gone just like she is.” Her mother hadn’t even thought him capable. How was he supposed to say, show, anyone anymore?

Numbed, Draco only vaguely felt the soothe and calming spell that washed away the burn and the red and angry flesh around it. And Draco didn’t care. It didn’t make him feel better. 

“Draco.” He ignored that one and the other times Harry tried to refocus his attention. Until Harry’s patience waned too and he held Draco’s neck with two hands and forced him not to look away and Draco hated him all the more for it. He tried to hug him - and Draco was tempted to throw him away - Harry was weak right now. But Harry held on, and Draco couldn’t handle the gesture.

Harry’s eyes weren’t soft or sad but furious and determined like all the times they’d ever dueled. “You love her - right? Then that’s all the proof you need. Tell everyone else to piss off.” 

A snort at the idea of telling Astoria’s mother to piss off was enough to snap him back for a moment. Having someone shorter try and force a hug was more than a little awkward and sore on his stiff muscles but as Draco stilled he wasn’t sure when the last hug he’d ever received was. Scorpius hadn’t in years, Astoria hadn’t been around for longer. He’d never once touched Jasmine. Having someone to lean on, a physical weight to hold him up and offer support had long since been forgotten. And so it was either crumbling back to the floor and losing himself in these thoughts of failure or clinging onto Harry in a lung-crushing hug because that was the only way he was going to remain on his feet. He hid away his face in Harry’s shoulder, ashamed at being caught again weak and panicking but this time, grateful. He hadn't cried over her even at the funeral. He couldn't. And now it hurt, a thorny, guilt-ridden sob and he couldn't stop it.

Harry didn’t shush him or speak again, he just held on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I imagine will be another looong one. Not as busy as I thought but still not free to write whenever just yet. Fluff and feels next. 
> 
> =) Thanks for reading!


	28. Relief

When Harry started to lower his hands from his back - and it had nothing to do with Draco’s now absence of tears or his calmed breathing after the fact - Draco panicked. 

He sulked and hugged tighter, still trying to work out if it was possible to apparate without bringing along the person physically attached. His head ached from the crying and his eyes were too warm and his face puffy. He refused to let go or return to a non-hugging state which might involve having the potential awkward post-hugging-crying moment. No, Draco was fine just here. Perfectly capable of never looking at Harry in the eyes again because once again - again, bloody well again - he’d been caught out. Caught being emotional and oh that wasn’t -- wasn’t cool or charming or whatever bloody thing Draco liked to think others thought of him. 

Really, he was fine here and was well prepared to goad sympathy for a few more seconds of time. If Potter wasn’t demystified by this behaviour he was completely in need to be shipped off to the madhouse. How could a grown man cry like this over jewellery? It was ridiculous, he could hear his father tutting, looking down at him already. Another disgrace, another thing for his parents to bicker over. Still after so many years he could still hear the sigh of disappointment. 

Harry’s grip increased as the seconds ticked by, scratching against his shirt and back until Draco could feel Harry’s imbalance. “I’m not gonna be able to stand for much longer, y’know?” He tried to play it off as a joke, like it wasn’t Draco’s fault he was exhausted. 

Changing topics was a relief, a boon. 

“You won’t fall.” Draco wasn’t some scrawny kid who couldn’t hold someone upright. Harry laughed then and it eased the tight coil of shame in his gut as the laughter rumbled against him.

“I don’t think anyone would believe me if you tried to sweep me off my feet.”

Wasn’t it weird how people could sound like they were smiling?

“I never mentioned sweeping. I’m a Malfoy we don’t do sweeping,” Draco was aware of his petulant tone and continued it anyway because at least they weren’t talking about - about Before. He wasn’t sure he could discuss Astoria with Harry. Would that even be fair? He wanted to keep the two seperate.

Harry didn’t take him up on the offer, maybe too proud and not wishing to fall flat on his face again. Or not trusting Draco enough - whichever it was, Harry’s posture went rigid and a vein showed at his neck as he struggled, stubbornly, to stand on his own. Urgh, awkward post-hug-and-crying moment? No. No, he couldn’t handle that. Draco awkwardly stood back to let Potter start this horrid affair of talking about feelings. 

“Think your shirt’s ruined.” Harry put a finger through it and prodded him. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and Draco couldn’t feel any warmth from those hands. It was a hole in his chest and Draco laughed a bitter and petty laugh because how poetically shit this whole thing was?

“We’re even, I’ve ruined yours.” 

When Harry finally saw and assessed the damage of tears in a large blot of darker blue, Draco fled to the bathroom to wash his face. The only positive was Harry was sitting down now going by the thrum of magic from the Manor. Nothing pretty or handsome, nothing elegant or graceful Draco would bet on his lacking qualities right now and wouldn’t even need the mirror. 

Draco didn’t consider himself an emotional sort (both Pansy and Blaise had oddly laughed at that admission back in the day). Even if the soggy patches on Harry’s shirt said otherwise, Draco would still say it. He didn’t do crying. Complaining, ranting certainly but in this moment? How he was supposed to argue he was fine when his sentences would be punctuated with sniffling and blinking bloodshot eyes. Draco could sleep for several summers right about now. 

Overcoming grief wasn’t a task one could score off like weeding the garden. Months lacking in agency only to be replaced with a desire, fervent and furious to go do something worthy and in those times thoughts on Astoria didn’t pop into his head so much. But he didn’t not miss her. Some days were easier, reminiscing bringing a smile and no twinge of regret or pain. He hadn’t played his part as a dutiful husband because that would imply a fleeting effort, gone when Astoria left this plane of existence. Carrying on was simply easier than acknowledging the loss completely by stopping. 

Well, he’d spent as long as he could in the bathroom. Trying to calm the redness of his face and the croak of his throat finally, showing its injury by the shouting and crying earlier. The return to his bedroom wasn’t a much desired one. What would Harry say now? Clearing his throat, trying to test how raw and miserable his voice was he muttered a few words, to Harry who had perched on the bottom of Draco’s bed. He used to door to cover himself from whatever slew of could-be insults.

“This was stupid--”

“I get it.” Harry faltered then, and Draco frowned at that voice. The ‘I Know Everything’ one. The fucking teeth-grinding arrogant one. It must have shown on his face, must have as Harry looked away, confidence lost. “Maybe not exactly but you had something from someone you cared for and now they’re both gone. I get that.”

Another wobbling start and Harry moved to the mess. He was on his knees, pulling with shaky hands. Picking at the metal fused into the carpet. The rush up the stairs, to have Draco hold onto him in a grip so tight probably hadn’t left him much energy for magic casting. 

“What are you doing?” Draco didn’t like how the carpet torn and frayed as the metal had ruined it too.

“What do you want me to do with it?” Harry didn’t look up as he asked and Draco backed away and stayed at arms length just in case it flared in anger and melted in Potter’s hands.

“Could you--” Draco steeled himself to speak, not enjoying the warbling lilt to his voice, “Put it in her jewellery box? It’s-- on the dressing table.” He paused as he worried Harry might - as ridiculous as the thought was - somehow damage the melted wedding band more than it was already. Harry wobbled on his feet but Draco didn’t dare move from his spot. The box was still open, the once simple but pure wedding ring jarring now against the cream velvet inside. 

“Can you close it? I don’t - I don’t want to see it - not like that.”

It was shut with a click and Draco slouched against the wall, exhausted and confused. He was gone in his thoughts, the memories of demanding to wear that cursed ring and proclaiming to Mrs Greengrass it wouldn’t so much as nip him. She hadn’t believed him for a second he was marrying Astoria because he loved her. 

‘Malfoys aren’t known for their affections.’ 

He crumbled against the wall until his knees might knock his chin and Harry was careful in approaching him and he hadn’t the time to consider it was anything more than Harry’s own fatigue catching up. Harry plonked himself down next to him and Draco didn’t really register if he was speaking. Not until Harry’s phone was shoved in front of his face, the picture being that of the crup earlier.

“I thought you were sending them to someone?” The crup’s face, with its stupid grin was on the screen and Draco took it from Harry with no complaints. It didn't fix anything but it was nice to see, nicer than anything else in this room.

Launching into how these phones worked in more detail was an interesting distraction. Absorbing not so much, between the moments of silence he wondered if he was going to suffer consequences for the destruction of a Greengrass family heirloom. Daphne would notice, without a doubt. Scorpius would notice. Blaise would too, he was an observant sort. Nott wouldn’t and not many others who really conversed with Draco under the guise of purebloods sticking together would either. 

In habit he tried to spin the now missing ring on his finger. Once, then twice, Draco tried to ignore the stare. If Harry wanted to say something then he could be a Gryffindor about it. 

“Sorry.”

For once, Draco didn’t understand. Waiting on Harry to elaborate proved futile. A half-hearted shrug and Harry didn’t say anything else. 

“For what?” Draco prodded, now more than sure his display was giving Potter second thoughts. 

“I keep feeling like I’m pushing too much.”

The laugh hurt his already raw throat but he couldn’t help it. Potter didn’t lack confidence, did he? “Oh, get over yourself, when have you ever managed to make me do anything I didn’t want to do? Look--” he huffed, “It’s not as simple as you think.”

“Tell me,” Harry said and tried to grab at his wrist again. 

“I’ve acted the bleeding heart long enough for tonight.” He stood up and fixed at his collars and cuffs, pretending he was perfect now that the lint was gone. No, there was no point in trying to explain, no point in giving these emotions more weight by adding words to them. Another attempt to grab onto his wrist and Harry kept talking. 

“Maybe we could find someone to put it back--” Harry just thought there was a solution for everything, didn’t he?

Pulling back his hand as if Harry had burned him this time, Draco scoffed. Why was he surprised? “I’m not sad it’s gone, I’m guilty. Leave the bloody thing where it is. I don’t want you here, thinking you can fix everything.” The bitter bile erupted in his throat and he ignored Harry to the point he wasn’t sure how he’d even taken the words. He was leaving and Draco was left as he wished it. The ring was kidding, to think he -- Harry might replace Astoria. When the door shut Draco started the staring contest with the jewellery box and he didn’t know how to stop. 

Lotty arrived as Draco shifted, legs in pins and needles, the room had darkened and Draco’s stomach growled.

“Get out,” he said and Lotty whimpered an apology and fled to Potter. He hadn’t left his room since leaving Draco on the floor. The childish thing was that he wasn’t even angry, not at them; this sickening weight that made it difficult to swallow and breathe. Like Katie Bell, the guilt was thick and slimy, sticking in his insides and making them squirm. 

To think of Harry rushing around showing everyone the pieces, the burnt and bubbled ooze that once was the Greengrass’ ring. How everyone would jeer and mock him. Of course, Mrs. Greengrass would finally after so many years of waiting for the day Draco failed, say, ‘I knew it. I was right.’ No, Draco couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow anyone to see the ring he loathed so much be so mangled and impure, it would say more about him as a person - that’s what people would say. That’s what they always said and no matter how sick Draco was of hearing about his own hidden depravity, it was enough to have his wife - his dead and gone wife be added as a footnote to his own life. 

So he stood on dead legs, opened the window and hopped out. A solid weight in his chest made Draco wonder if he'd simply fall out of the sky, too heavy even for his avian form. As nimble and agile as all the times before him, Draco swooped around the Manor, wailing in a language even Harry wouldn't know. 

Astoria was dead. She wasn’t going to rise from her grave as a ghost, tormented and hurt and seek vengeance. She hadn’t even wanted him to wear the bloody ring. Confusion was a great deal more difficult to remove than guilt or dread: how could he say anything but good things about Astoria (and yet hate his wedding ring so much)? Because as much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to prove to everyone that sole fact; he hated it. The constant stream of judgement, having to care for a ring which sat on his finger and judged him just like everyone else who didn’t know him. He was glad it was gone and in its absence didn’t know how to show others he was capable of more, more than the scarred skin on his arm. 

Was he allowed to move on? Would he be hailed as a terrible husband to move on after her death or was he supposed to be alone now, forever until his own death because some people assumed ‘true love’ meant he couldn’t love again.

Draco shrieked at the world and its dull sky.

Hypocrites, the purebloods all of them. Even him. He wanted desperately for Astoria’s happiness and was mocked or begrudged it by another - because purebloods didn’t do love. Business and family lineage and the ad nauseum of pretending the War never happened. She was gone and he still had refused the pettiness of the circles of the twenty-eight. If one more person dared joke how Daphne was still available he would curse them. He wouldn’t marry anyone who considered the War over and done with, a hiccup now gone.

He shrieked at the peahens, enough for even the peacocks to begin to flare their tails and charge.

Emotions weren’t Draco’s strong suit, while some might find relief in talking out problems or others who Silenced a room and yelled their frustrations free in the knowledge that no one would know, Draco found none. He didn’t like the sound of him crying, far too often as a child it led to his father scolding him, his mother defending him and the two bickering. He’d rather just avoid the upset. Although a scream and shriek as an owl sounded different, more in control than some sobbing old man. 

Perching on a post, watching the territorial birds fan their feathers he tried to make sense of it. Anger his slip up had cost him the ring; sadness at the loss of another piece of Astoria; glee at finally having a reason not to wear the blasted thing; guilt at the glee, at the possibility that he was doing wrong. 

Wood slid together and the noise made Draco turn back to the Manor. Standing by the window, opened wide and with a cracking voice as if he were straining himself Harry yelled, “Fornax! Draco needs you to come inside!”

Did Harry want to talk? An apology wasn’t yet made up in his head and so Draco hooted and swooped away. He still didn’t know what to do and that was unforgivable. A plan, a solution something to scoop out these emotions that bled into his mind and cursed him all over again. What would Daphne say when she saw the ring gone? Would she report back to her parents? 

In response the heavens rumbled and groaned. Draco flinched at the disorientating noise as if someone had put a metal bucket on his head and walloped it hard. He screeched back. Sound was not the problem, the ensuing downpour was. At first he could ignore it, simply an extra weight onto his wings. Heavy and constant, the rain soaked into his feathers and dragged him down in minutes. No matter how fast or hard he flapped, it was tiring and he waned in the air. He screamed again, made to land onto the grating of his home.

The night was cold, in typical British fashion accompanied by a wind that made it so much worse. Even the closest and smallest of feathers on him were dripping and Draco shivered in the rain. Owl feathers were not waterproof and Draco could see now how it was such an issue; he didn’t think he could fly much less hear prey. All but Harry’s voice was clear through the haze of rainfall. 

He extended his hand out, the sleeve being bombarded with rain already and he waved him over. “You’re soaked, you can’t fly like that, come inside.” Draco didn’t try to move, didn’t so much as look in Harry’s direction, twisting his head all the way round to prove his point.

“Don’t be stupid. Do you seriously think I won’t come out there?” Draco called him a series of names, none which came out as anything but a long drawn out cry. Potter would absolutely jump out of a bloody window to save an ordinary owl, never mind Draco as an animagus. He hopped down to the windowsill, not so gracefully now his feathers were muddled and weighing him down like a thousand tiny chains. 

Harry scooped him up in his arms and Draco didn’t mind so much in returning to the house. Warmth from the Manor enveloped him and he cooed involuntary. 

“Bloody hell, you’re freezing.” Harry set him on the armoire covering him with a towel, not so fluffy and not warm like before. Unlike the rest of the wizarding houses, the Malfoy Manor was old - plumbing might be installed but electricity was not - a shame really. As Harry manhandled his feathers, the Muggle instrument that blew warm air seemed like a luxury.

Perhaps that was when Harry remembered he was a wizard capable of magic. “ _Accio_ towel,” he called out. For a moment Draco wondered if he was too tired to even command a single item. A hoot of an apology and Harry too sighed at the varying power he held. If this was morning, if he hadn’t been urged to rush up the stairs and stand around with someone else’s body weight then maybe he—

The Manor might have opened the door - maybe Harry had - but it startled them both and in the distance the sound of doors opening enmass. Magic houses were fickle only if their owners were. Worrying wards and cautious Head of House garnered all the same and Harry at this moment in time was the only ward the Manor recognised. Malfoy Manor was used to arrogant and petulant intents, cruel and petty ideas and worrying was certainly not encouraged to be obvious. A house copied the intent of the ward highest. 

So it was Harry’s fault all of the linen cupboards of the Manor opened and their contents flew at his face. Draco was smart enough to wriggle away from the impending avalanche of off white, ivory, cream and white towels but he was not fast enough. 

Harry made a noise, possibly of a man dying of embarrassment as the towels continued to pile up. When Harry popped his head out of the mountain of feverishly found towels, Draco laughed in his own linen-made avalanche. Laughed so hard he knew his human part would return because he couldn’t keep up with trying to breathe and laugh and try to focus on staying an owl. He turned back, soaked to the bone and teeth chattering and a trembling laughter, giddy and the only thing which was warming him. The very sight Harry Potter was buried under his own outlandish worries tickled. 

“Find any, Potter?” He staggered out of them, wheezing at the ridiculous magic. This was the guy that defeated Voldemort. His laughter was louder after that, so loud and shaking he’d grasped onto the very armoire he’d once sat on to keep him from doubling over. 

“Just one or two.” Harry threw one over his head and rubbed at his hair, and Draco kept his head as low as he could. Was it him being too cold or Harry’s worry which forced its magic to respond? He didn’t know, but another ran down his back and he could barely keep his wand in his hands as he cast a warming charm. It might make him feel better but it didn’t dry out his damp and cold skin. The Manor sent him another, anxious and too concerned over the Head of House being cold. Too cold, Draco heard it say, a vision of himself shivering in his head. 

Patting around his neck and collar he considered this a useless but nonetheless nice gesture. What would be best would be Draco going off to bathe and warm up and dry himself. What did drying his hair really provide? He saw it then, peeking up at Harry’s face, the focus - the intense way he went on with tasks, as if the world would fall all around them if he didn’t do whatever it was. And as it was, was drying Draco’s hair. Usually, normally, if Draco was fine and well and not guilty he’d stop this little show of care. 

”My Aunt and Uncle used to say I was a waste of space.” 

Draco stilled upon hearing it. For once he had no doubt Harry could push him away and it wouldn’t make Draco think any lesser of him for it. And still those hands rubbed at his hair, didn’t shove Draco away because that’s not what it was about. This wasn’t their scoreboard of wins and losses. It wasn’t their usual bickering with one ending up leaving furious and the other gleeful and cackling. It was a line Draco crossed unknowing, not thinking about how his words might hurt. Sorry didn’t make up for it. Wouldn’t uncross that line or fix whatever nonsense Harry had thought for the last hour or so on his own as Draco flew around ignoring everything and everyone else. 

Playing with the end of the towel in his hands he set his forehead against the same shoulder he’d made a sopping mess of earlier and forced himself to offer some restitution to him and spoke the truth, “I lied.” With a sigh, long and drawn out Harry relaxed and in turn so did Draco. It felt like forgiveness. 

“Of course you did.” Harry resumed the hair-drying, this time not so rough and Draco peeked up to see Harry wasn’t, had never been angry. Oh. He was - he was being looked after. Taken care of. When was the last time he’d experienced that? Scorpius shouldering his weight and putting him to bed after a bad week left him drunk and morose in his study. It really shouldn’t make him feel so flustered, not when he was so mad, so mixed up before. But it blossomed again, that same way affection always did which started deep in his chest and fluttered and warmed - and Harry didn’t even realise. He was focused again on drying him off. 

“Probably best for you to have a quick shower,” Harry advised like Draco was in any danger of being ill. It took all of Draco’s control not to smile as he closed his eyes and let Harry dry the stray droplets running down his face. The giddiness morphed like an owl to a dragon and Draco couldn’t stop it. He really wanted to kiss Harry, pull him closer - soaking clothes and numb fingers be damned. 

And Harry hadn’t a clue he just continued on. (Harry was terribly sweet and) Draco had to say he’d only just really taken notice. Every interaction for so long always held some currency, a tacked on favour, a promise to return it or else. This selfless little show was enough for Draco to acknowledge it; those feelings of Harry’s that weren’t quite so misguided. People didn’t take care of Draco Malfoy because they wanted something from him. They were secretive and select, not willing to give a second more to Draco in order for their goals to be achieved.

Maybe something did show on his face because Harry paused. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Draco smiled and received one, somewhat bewildered and curious, in return. A tilt of the head which reminded Draco of a crup.

“While you go and warm up I’ll--” Harry looked to the ignored linen mountain. “I’ll take care of those.”

“Sounds like a fine idea.” His eyes flicked down, Draco might’ve teased him more if Harry hadn’t froze, unable to look away but not wanting to push again, not yet. That was fine. So, Draco did it this time, leaning forward and hearing Harry sigh. Only when Harry’s thumb sat at the curve of his jaw, and mouth against his own did Draco realise how cold he really was. How the heat from Harry was terribly addicting against his own skin.

Harry forced the inhale that followed and he said, “You’re really cold, so you better hurry up.” As if those words would ever hide the way Harry’s eyes were darkening or how he'd nearly pried his hands away. His focus was certainly different now and Draco licked his lips and saw Harry followed it without so much as a blink.

It wasn’t exactly what Draco wanted but he’d take it. A rest was necessary for the sheer amount of emotional turmoil he’d laboured under today. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Harry whispered back and Draco left Harry there not knowing if he was rejected or not.

The bath was divine, in the only way chilled skin in warm water was. He’d stayed until his fingers pruned and his plan of action was made. Sleep first and apologise later, he supposed. A nights rest for everyone involved might ease the tension. He moved sluggish and slow and not because of his cramping muscles or his reluctance of going anywhere near the dressing table. 

Problem was, the jewellery box’s stare was heavy and Draco turned in his bed throughout the night. Then he would turn back and stare back. And for the hundredth time he’d turn to look away. No, he wouldn’t manage sleep tonight. It was still in his head, the sight of it crumbling in his hands. Nothing would make this room comfortable. Sitting up he wondered if Harry was awake, Maybe. He might as well check. The Manor was helpful in keeping tabs on those on the wards and he was sure Harry was in bed. 

He made it halfway down the hall before stopping. What if he was asleep, a rarity for him, and Draco woke him up - for what? Draco lingered for a moment. He didn’t really know what he wanted Harry to do or say, what he wanted to do or say to Harry. What could Harry hope to do that Draco couldn’t do himself? Nothing. He returned to his bedroom, got into bed and stared back at the jewellery box.

It tormented him, the pretty lock gleaming in the dark and Draco stared back.

Lasting another hour, tossing and turning Draco left his room again, not able to stop the feeling he was doing something wrong. He’d failed and he needed something. Something. He didn’t know what but staying in that room -- This time he made it to Harry’s door before he faltered again. Harry was clear in his affections, would this be fair? Sneaking into his room or asking to - whatever Draco was going to ask - all he knew he couldn’t stay in that room, or any room on his own. Not with the sound of hissing, melting metal in his head. He needed someone else, something real and not a phantom that conjurered his memories. 

It wouldn’t be fair, would it? To have him slip in at night, that would be raising expectations. Ones Draco couldn’t even begin to fathom right now, not in this headspace. Not with all these other emotions unravelling. Draco returned to his room keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. He paced around, couldn’t slip back into bed, no chance he’d sleep like this. He was too hyped up on this anxious energy. 

He sat on the bed, he paced the room, he sat on the bed, he paced the room. 

For hours. It watched him from Astoria’s dressing table. And Draco could feel it, a horrid lurking cloud waiting. So, Draco kept his cool and ignored it. Ignored the questions it posed, what he thought himself but would never admit to -- he was a terrible -- and Draco held his breath as Harry’s presence moved and he froze on the spot.

So he was up? Where was he going? Awake and moving out of his room. The Manor flared how Harry was heading towards him. Oh. Oh, Harry must have felt him move around and Harry paused outside his door. Then there was a knock and Draco wasn’t sure he could answer it. Time ticked by and Draco watched it half expecting Harry to leave. He waited, silent and in a terrible lie to himself thought he could convince Harry he was sleeping by not moving, not an inch.

He didn’t. One minute then two and Draco could say Harry probably could tell exactly where he was in the room being so close by. Still, Harry didn’t move and Draco didn’t either. He didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t have a plan, no idea or reason why he was urged away from this room and wanted into - and Draco couldn’t say he even wanted into Harry’s room specifically. 

Maybe he was here to say this was his last night here; returning to the hovel was better than this place with an over-emotional and petty Draco Malfoy. Wringing his hands together, his fingers going to wipe at the no longer present metal he opened the door. And Harry stood there in the doorway and Draco couldn’t speak. Couldn’t ask or say what he wanted or needed to do to feel better about anything. He was tired, He was exhausted and his brain was stuffed with cotton and his head ached from the crying and the overthinking. Harry was still under the effects of the potion, going by how clouded his eyes, how he leaned against the doorframe and seemed to want to sleep standing up.

Harry for once didn’t say a word and neither did Draco. He waved him over, like he was going to tell him a secret. Cautious, Draco waited for him to say something. If Harry was angry he’d know how to respond, he’d know how to express himself if only Harry hurried up and set the tone. Harry motioned his head down the hall, to his own room, and in another tug of his hand returned, Draco in tow and hearing the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears. 

What could he say to say he wasn’t comfortable anymore, not in his own house, not in his own bedroom. Apologises weren’t common from Draco - he’d never been taught how to say sorry, to admit fault until Astoria and he failed her again because he couldn’t say it now, when he needed to. 

One solid squeeze of his hand and then Harry let go and Draco didn’t know until now what the word floundering meant as Harry crawled back under the covers. Had Harry meant to leave the door wide open? 

Oh.

Wringing his hands again, Draco hadn’t a clue what to do or say. Harry seemed ready to return to sleep. 

Close the door, he commanded the Manor and it did so, gently. 

How long had it been since he’d laid next to someone in bed? To have a heat radiating from the side that was normally cold and empty. If Harry was ever feeling awkward over having Draco in the bed with him, he never showed it, not as he yawned outloud and muttered a goodnight before Harry went limp, a deadweight that gave Draco pause. Now, he was here and unable to see so much as a flicker of metal in this room and he calmed. 

Well, he tried to. If Harry’s behaviour was an interlude of highs and hallucinations then tomorrow morning would be worse than the tears tonight. It wasn’t as if Draco wasn’t aware Harry wanted him in his bed. But he’d probably had grander ideas than walking Draco to the bed and promptly sleeping. 

Ha.

And that brought the question: what on earth was Draco doing? He’d never slept with another man before so how was this even a thing? How could he be lying here in bed, with Harry Potter, once a brat who’d rejected and almost killed him and saved him and given him mercy when the world didn’t want to. Was it even possible for him to give Harry what he wanted? 

One thing was bothering him about this. Potter had made several claims to being “pushy”. Why did he assume Draco would just go along with anything? Was he so used to the special treatment even as an adult? If Wilks had tried what Harry did at the party, his unidentifiable body would be washing up in the Clyde right about now. And then there was the hilarious fact Harry had assumed he’d fallen for a Muggles manipulation for a kiss.

His revelation came in the form of Harry trying to keep to his side of the bed - he flinched away when his foot dared to tap at Draco’s shin. If Draco hadn’t seen the pattern before, he’d have been offended. The mattress shifted under him as he turned over and Draco tried to make out some details of the room. Only the black blob of Harry’s hair, the greys and whites of the covers and-- Harry turned around too, too close - too close - his hair tickling at Draco's neck and chin.

“Are you awake?” he whispered. Nothing and somehow it made Draco fret more. 

Gulping a breath, he didn’t understand the simmering nerves. Every since Harry had appeared at his bedroom door, this unbalanced, unfettered energy kept him on edge. Everything about Harry right now should remind Draco this was a favour. To escape the waking nightmares and guilt-ridden thoughts but now Harry was curling up to him like a cat.

“Harry?” He tried again.

Frozen. Unsure. Draco Malfoy was never either of those, not these days. Maybe back in the earliest years of Hogwarts when Dark Magic wasn’t so prominent. When he was a child, he’d heard his father talk about Harry Potter, a Great Dark Wizard, who’d have a scar upon his brow and how Draco would know instantly who he was and how lucky and good it would be to befriend him. Out of all the times they’d spent slagging each other off, Draco had to say he’d never saw the scar in much detail. Even when his face was mangled and bloated from the hex fired directly at him or during their many duels. 

“Are you really asleep?” He asked out of caution and combed his hand over the ridiculous hair of one Harry Potter. Thumbed over the infamous scar, and stilled. 

He really wanted to--

A small and dim orb of light, much like a _Lumos_ charm, fluttered down from the ceiling illuminating and casting darker shadows around the room. It wasn’t enough to blind or burn his eyes. The Manor really was a peculiar magic. He saw the movement behind Harry’s eyelids, the twitch of his jaw and the faded scar. Line more or less the same as the scars on Draco’s arm. White tailing off into skin and its shape distorted after years of growing and healing. 

Another ghost of a touch over the mark. Funny really, how everyone fawned over Harry and his scars until the War. Until it wasn’t just a bedtime story about a baby defeating evil. Remnants of wars were always scars, one way or another. 

Draco had a hypothesis of sorts about Harry. For a long time, Draco considered himself alone but whether everyone or only some found, his loneliness never clung deep. A notion but never an ache. As an only child, a teenager alone against the world and then a widow to a terribly sad child he was used to entertaining himself after the fact. Harry blushed when Draco brought up anything affectionate, anything which hinted Draco was aware of Harry’s feelings or desires as if they were the embarrassing part. Nothing told Draco Harry was prudish, quite the opposite. 

Yet Harry still went out of his way to do the memorable. Who would ever dare to take Draco to the Muggle world? Who would ever try and push their way into allowing a Malfoy to meet unimprinted crups? Or how he was unbelievably resolute the poor reputation didn’t bother him to the point of almost everyone finding out on the night of his confession because of his staring.

Even though Harry wasn’t the type to expect anything to come from helping someone, here he was. Curled up and Draco being the one taking an advantage. But if Potter was asleep-- really asleep--

There was something Draco wanted to do, always had after being unshackled and freed. Draco Malfoy was a coward, not brave enough even to write the words. Saying it now would place unnecessary thoughts into Harry’s head. If Harry considered him pushy or somehow twisting Draco’s hurt to his own advantage then bringing up the time Draco and his mother was saved by his word alone might be too much. 

Harry’s breathing never hiked or slowed, sped or deepened. Pushing the ever ridiculous mess of hair out of the way again. “Thank you.” He planted a kiss on Harry’s forehead and the light died. His last conscious thought was how Harry seemed to nuzzle between his neck and the bed.

When Draco opened his eyes he was surprised at how difficult it was to breathe. To discover Harry wasn’t actually human but some breed of octopus that was trying to smother him with all his limbs, and made a rumbling noise akin to something escaping the foulest pits of hell. He pushed Harry, his arm flurrying with pins and needles. 

“There are pillows,” he grunted, pretending to be more interested in his arm than the resonating thought he was - had - slept in Harry’s bed for the night.

“Too soft,” Harry slurred and fell back into a slumber Draco wasn’t going to wake him from. That was a little bit of a relief and allowed Draco some time to sort out his own thoughts before Harry interrogated him. 

Yesterday wasn’t so clear cut for Harry as his questions illuminated his insecurities. Draco needed to talk about those too. If Harry was surprised when he woke up, eyes more alert, he didn’t say anything. And the he stared. And stared. And now he was awake - Harry was still staring - Draco couldn’t talk. Couldn’t mention anything without it sounding off or much like he’d spent too long thinking over Harry than his wife.

Slowly, Harry moved. Covered Draco’s eyes with a warm hand. No. No, no, Draco froze again, his heart thudding out his ears -- Harry pushed back some errand hair and kissed him on the forehead.

Well that was mortifying. That’s it. He was moving to France. Ready to deflect, defend his ego and dismiss whatever Harry was going to say, Draco glared as he shifted. He waited to hear something smarmy, something snarky which would make Draco’s blood boil and show them both this couldn’t work. Never work. 

Harry didn’t say a word and Draco’s ready to ignite anger fizzled out. Already, Harry had settled down using Draco as a makeshift pillow. How long Harry stared back, Draco couldn’t hope to say.

“We should talk,” Harry said and shut up. 

Fine. They should. It took some time, a self-conscious nightmare as Harry seemed to watch whatever tiny movement Draco made. 

“I’ve only been with Astoria,” he mentioned in hopes to move passed however many people - forget it, men - Harry had actually slept with as quickly as possible. If Draco was in a long, long list he wasn’t sure how he would take it. Harry propped himself up on an elbow and Draco sneered at the lack of pyjamas - not that Harry was naked. No Harry Potter was one of those people, people who went to sleep in clothing fit for outside and didn’t seem to have any inkling as to why that was weird.

“No Pansy?” Draco didn’t know whether to laugh at the ignorance or the implications.

“Pansy? She was an only child from a pureblood family. At which point was she supposed to let anyone close? Sorry I don’t sleep with Muggles to inflate my numbers.” 

His expression soured and Draco prepared himself to hear about some ‘small’ number that would overshadow his own. “Neither do I?” Harry lied, must have lied. Until his eyes light up in a way that was similar to when they were trading barbs and insults. “Oh. He’s a friend of a friend - squib. Never shagged him. No, that’s never gonna happen.” That grin said too much of how much Harry’s ego was bloating under Draco’s wrong assumption. 

Great. Moving on swiftly.

“Copping a feel and getting off with each other is one thing. I’m not sure on the ‘sleeping with another guy’ part. This might not work out.” Draco tried to explain it all away as fast as possible. The rules in Slytherin were quite strict with eyes and ears everywhere. Matching up wasn’t some teenager fling, it was potentially overseen by parents and plans set for decades. His mother had wanted him to return to Pansy and marry her before her sham marriage to Nott. So, hooking up after marriage was a traitorous idea.

Unlike the bluster he expected, Harry didn’t bother to move an inch. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

What a stupid question: was Harry uncomfortable? (Was that it?)

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked or claimed you’re being pushy or some other such nonsense. Why?” He spied the way Harry seemed to look at him only to glance away as if scolded. 

“I don’t want to push you into anything.” He might have pouted, Draco couldn’t be sure. “It’s not a bad thing.” Silence wasn’t always awkward or provocative but letting it linger after a question added pressure for it to be answered. If Harry caved or if he was simply feeling generous, there was no way to know.

“Ginny was miserable for two years and whenever she wanted to talk, I’d just push and say everything was fine or we could fix it.” When Harry sighed, Draco could tell where it was coming from: a deep regret. So, their marriage was on the rocks before Harry’s magic and anger issues?

Understanding the toil and toll a marriage took made Draco think before he next spoke. It explained why Harry turned from assertive to passive in such a short time. Worried he’d trailblaze in his usual way and ignore Draco’s wishes. 

“Do you think if I was uncomfortable or had issue, you wouldn’t know about it?” Draco might be a mess by someone’s standards (and he held greater standards than most people) he wasn’t someone who ever took discomfort quietly and without a passing word. Harry hid his face and laughed and Draco felt it more in his warm breath and shaking form than hearing it. 

What was most interesting, Draco wasn’t even slightly uncomfortable - here he was laying in bed and being used like some comforter and nothing. Not even a smidgen of awkward atmosphere. Was it because he knew Harry for so long? Or because Potter was at least candid in his affections? He was too brutish to manipulate, too forward to hide much of anything. 

“Could I kiss you?”

“You’re not going to ask everytime are you?” Draco found that more annoying than Wilks seduction attempts. “Because if that’s a habit, throw yourself out of this bed now before I do.” The threat fell itself and Harry seemed to contemplate, a little too chirpy for this early in the morning. No. Just no. It showed so clear on Harry’s face Draco scowled. “I will throw you out, don’t even--” 

“Could I--” Harry didn’t get to finish that question.

“Don’t.”

“But can I--” No. 

“That’s it. Consider this the worst--” Draco huffed, pulling at pillow his head rested on. 

His words were filled with such smug amusement. “May I—” Harry wasn’t able to finish that sentence, said pillow slammed in his face.

“No, I’ll just go find a Muggle to take advantage of me. Terribly conniving bunch.” Shoving him away, Draco sat up. What time was it? He wasn’t eager to see Hermione. He wasn’t eager to go to the Ministry. First off, running his hand through his already dishevelled hair he needed a shower and breakfast. And Lotty… he needed to apologise. He got out of bed.

“Lotty,” Draco called out and the house elf appeared. Her head downcast and no longer humming her usual tune. Rummaged through his Harry's robes until he found what he needed. He handed her a Sickle, her annual payment. Of course Draco Malfoy could never apologise to Lotty - Lotty wouldn’t hear of it. And Merlin strike him where he stands if he ever offered someone a Knut in apology. She perked up immediately as she flipped the coin over and saw its face.

“Lotty will make breakfast now?” She sounded too hopeful for an elf being asked to do her daily duty. 

“Yes, please do.” Draco ignored how Harry was watching them both. He didn’t need to explain this.

Breakfast was large in its portions and filling like usual. Still, Harry lacked any refinement at the table but this time, Lotty and Draco said nothing. So long as he didn’t stain or try to wear his breakfast on his Auror Department robes, Draco wasn’t going to mention it.

“Do you want to come to the Leaky with me? Luna and Neville will be there later. Hermione and Ron for a bit. Ginny and Seamus too. I haven’t been in a while," he said between mouthfuls and Draco paused as he checked the time. 

“Ginny.” He wasn’t letting Harry try and breeze passed that one. “You want me to go drinking with Ginny? Your still current and very much married and legally binding wife?”

“Separated, okay? Except only the people at the table know,” Harry said, as if he didn’t understand the problem.

Bringing his separated wife, her brother and his what -- current infatuation? -- to the same bar to drink? Merlin, no wonder Harry’s life was filled with such drama and adventure. 

“My, you’re just full of terrible ideas, aren’t you?” All but grinning at the appearance of red dusting on Harry’s ears was more than enough to convince Draco his hypothesis was correct. His teasing would have to wait, as he checked his pocket watch again. “Another time, I’ve somewhere to be today.” Harry didn’t believe him the way he sulked and twiddled about with his phone.

“Hermione. And I’m going to be late,” Draco informed him only to make his way to the Floo with Harry at his heels. 

“Once you’re done, Fornax could keep me company. Doubt I’ll do much more than sign off cases all day.” Good, Draco nodded. About time Harry returned to doing what he was paid to do. He couldn’t linger any longer and set about Flooing to the Ministry. 

“Let’s not make it a habit people will question.” Draco stepped into the Floo and the powder in his hands nearly messed up his shoes. Harry seemed out of sorts over the implication. Figures. Fine. If they were… trying this, then Draco wouldn’t push too much himself. 

“Well? Move. I swear If I’m late, Hermione will know it’s entirely your fault.” Harry seemed far too eager to stand beside him and be whisked away to the dull Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the unannounced hiatus! My entire schedule was turned upside down and I hadn't the energy to write for very long. So, even though I was bogged down and couldn't do much I have made *some* progress. 
> 
> Just a FYI, this fic will never be abandoned, even if it takes me forever to finish. Thank you for your patience.


	29. The First Death

Meeting with Hermione again and having no real answers was less frustrating and more embarrassing. The conniving purebloods hadn’t shown their fangs and Nott had gone silent. From what Draco could gather, him hosting Hermione’s little party had given them pause. Either they didn’t consider Hermione to show her loyalty in return or Malfoy was still influential enough to cause some inner conflict. 

Nott was loyal enough not to implicate whoever was at the head of it all but not enough for him to ruin his reputation. Pansy could be the deliberating factor, most marriages weren’t able to divorce - imagine the proceedings of divvying up centuries of land claims and filled vaults. It might be Nott was being blackmailed with the same knowledge Draco held from someone else to move after Hermione. Affairs were dull, until it came to the reasons why. Pansy and Blaise was one thing - he was still unmarried and wasn’t seen in much scandal. Nott on the other hand was sleeping with someone in a wholly different league if rumours were correct.

Hermione was too sharp for her own good as she settled on asking, for the third time, “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes, nothing out of the ordinary,” he answered too quickly. A tiny voice in his head wondered just how Hermione would react to hearing the truth. Self-preservation shut it up fast. Rubbing at his forehead, he tried to obliterate the sensation of Harry’s kiss, tried to stop the urge to smile. 

“Definitely the worst lie you’ve tried on me as of yet. You sound awful by the way.” Hermione sighed as she scratched out another few lines on her parchment and started again. Another speech and going by the amount of ink and scored out lines it wasn’t going well. “Have you heard anything? The vote isn’t far now.” 

“Nott will vote in his best interest, I’ve no doubt.” Draco would send another letter to reinforce such an ideal. 

“And Blaise? Still a wildcard?”

Blaise was… Well, he wondered about Blaise and what way his vote would fall. Abstaining was always a possibility. “He’s acting a little off, though did claim by having the party at the Manor I’ve placed myself in harm’s way. Blaise never tells the whole truth even if he knows it. I’d imagine he was holding onto that information since the venue was announced.”

Such as, Blaise knew about the soon-to-be attempt to floor this bill and destroy Hermione’s credibility (not only another reason why Potter was kept hidden away and protected). And still, Blaise hadn’t given up a name, not so much as a Goyle or Nott who Draco was well aware were part of this little stunt. No one, just a vague threat by someone unknown was given. What was Draco supposed to do with nothing?

Crossing his arms he was underwhelmed with his own performance. He should have more information but everything else kept popping up and distracting him. Harry, too, was partly at fault. Hermione set the quill away, and with a bright smile - not one she’d ever given because of Draco - asked, “How is Harry?”

For a split second, Draco believed his mind read and secrets revealed.

“I’m sure he could try a waltz, I couldn’t say how true to the steps he’d be but he’d manage something close for a song or two. Magic wise, well he did try and unload all of my linen into a room after a miscast Accio.”

“Sounds like he’s doing well. So, he’ll be home soon.” Hermione nodded to herself and Draco was calm despite the lurch at the thought. Yes, Harry would leave and then the Manor would return to its quiet, quiet days. It didn’t sound as relieving than it once had. 

“I’ll ask around, see if the reappearance of the Golden Couple didn’t halt their plans.” It might simply be it. Harry was still listed as one of the most powerful wizards living lists. Even Moran would pause. He set off to send a few more letters but didn’t manage to get to the door before Hermione’s Minister voice made him freeze.

“Draco?” He turned to see her scratch another line away, innocent enough but he waited to hear whatever curse she was waiting to fling his way. “I heard Harry had an owl helping deliver caseloads to the Aurors.” Her eyes twinkled in a manner Draco ignored entirely. She was terribly too amused by this news. “I’d like to see him keep up the work ethic he’s been lacking as of late, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve to be a carrier pigeon now?” Draco sniffed, he refused to go from being on equal measure of the most powerful families in Britain to parcel duty. “Overseeing the lethargic departments who can’t cross their Ts and dot their Is? Hardly the kind of work I’m used to.” How degrading, how pathetic, how Hermione ever thought he’d agree to this sort of treatment he’d never know.

“Normally an owl would provide Harry a distraction. This one I’ve also heard, was a great boost of morale.”

Wait, what? Okay, that might have flustered Draco a bit. He tried to save himself with a cough and a sneer. Though those ever vigilant eyes were far too filled with nonsense to say he’d managed to recover in time.

“Apparently, the owl ‘reanimated’ Harry. Everyone was chatting how he was… upbeat. How happy he was. As if he was back to his old self again.”

“Well, if the Ministry needs a morale boost I suppose I could offer--”

“Thank you, Draco.” She waved him away and Draco wanted to call her every horrid name under the sun because the woman was a manipulative shrew and he hated it. Hated how she thought she knew everything (she did not, and she most certainly did not know about Harry’s too sweet and not so sweet feelings) and still she’d managed to wrangle him back into the Auror Department. 

It, Draco supposed, was not too bad. He was going there today anyway. So, really, in the grand scheme of things he’d won.

Returning home to transmorph into an owl, to take the official route back to the Ministry was a bore. The buildings and routes twisted and turned and numerous Ministry owls screamed at him in a manner Draco found less territorial and more in surprise. Did they know he wasn’t really an owl? 

Either way he made it back to the Ministry in record time and he decided to land on Collins’ desk to announce himself. Harry could wait for a second or two. The man did not disappoint and threw himself back and yelled in horror as if Draco was no owl but a Boggart. Perhaps, Collins’ Boggart was an owl? Draco wasn’t keen on snakes and both of them swallowed their prey up with no chewing. 

“It’s back! It’s back again! Bloody hell! Sandra! Sandie! Whatever your name is--” he waved over a witch who must have gone through her Auror training immediately after schooling. Her arms were twigs upon a body much the same eerie thinness. Not the most intimidating of Aurors but Draco was familiar with those lacking in physical stature usually had the most vicious of spells. 

“Hey there, you’re so lovely. Did this grumpy old man not give you a treat yet?” She grinned at him, and he hooted back. He liked this one, for now. A lack of respect for Collins was a surefire way to have Draco’s.

“It didn’t bloody well deliver anything, it’s here to torment me, I’m telling you - it knows.”

Damn right. Sandra, Sandie whatever her name was rolled her eyes and blew a blonde wisp of hair from the front of her face. “Sure. I’m guessing this is the one he was talking about? Come on you,” she held her arm out and Draco was impressed at her ease at being near an unknown owl. Must have some experience then. Maybe spent days in the Owlery a Hogwarts? 

He hopped onto her arm and she made a meandre to Harry’s office taking her time in order to give heartfelt compliments. Little weird, but Draco assumed she was sane enough and she knocked before opening it herself. 

“Sir, your owl’s here.”

His owl? What had he been saying to people? 

The office wasn’t tidy but the numerous stacks were half the size than last time. Progress was a slow path.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled and Draco wondered who it was directed towards. His Auror robes were off, hanging up over his chair and revealing more Muggle clothing. Outrageous, really but the Auror-trainee, whatever she was, didn’t so much as blink at the sight. Harry left his own pile of parchment and Draco wasn’t sure why. Fornax could fly, he didn’t need this escort.

“He hasn’t nipped anyone has he?” Harry asked, quiet and Draco was going to bite him for such a question.

“Oh no, he’s been very gentle. Isn’t even gripping onto me all that much. My mum had one of these, nice to look at yeah? Nasty temper and one hella bite.”

“Sounds spot on. Wouldn’t you say so?” Harry’s joke endeared the trainee but Draco squawked, refused to be transferred over to Harry’s arm like an errand and flew over to the desk. Already there was a bundle sitting waiting, labelled E. COLLINS. Strings were wrapped around a dozen or so parchments and folders in neat piles. What should he feel when his presence was assumed like this?

The young woman left, never giving Harry the now usual wary and disgruntled scowls. As if Harry had heard his indignation he scratched at the back of his head. 

“If you could? I can get through this a lot faster if I don’t have to stop and deliver each set.” Draco stared without making a sound indicating any kind of agreement. Harry continued, “You know, my magic isn’t that great yet.”

Lies, such weak and easily seen through lies. What should he slip on the Auror robes and bark orders to the lot too? Draco ignored him. Was this help or was this adding onto Harry’s assumption this was all okay? An ill habit forming wasn’t going to help Harry in the long run. Obviously, he had some pride and some inkling his months of doing nothing was embarrassing. Really embarrassing for the Boy Who Lived. How many Aurors were disapppointed in the fable, the larger than life tale of Harry Potter being such a let down? A man who hadn’t done paperwork and hid in his office if he ever turned up wasn’t worth much. 

Ron and Hermione were not aware of this problem, ignorant to the potions and the panic. Could he blame them for not knowing? Not really, not when Harry was keeping all these secrets. Fine. Draco would help, only in the hopes the towers of paper would dwindle until only that file remained. The one that made Harry Potter scared and struggle. And Draco would demand to see it. See what Harry Potter was fearing and try and deal with it too. 

He chirped, but nipped at the air as Hary returned to sit down. His agreement wasn’t an absolute forever. Just today, since Hermione had said so. 

Some Aurors had more than one stack brought to them, not because of the sheer amount but the weight. One file in particular was a slew of pictures and parchment and Draco couldn’t possibly hope to fly carrying such a thick file. His feathers were made for stealth not speed and the uplift even from these larger than average wings wasn’t enough to carry much more than his own bodyweight.

Harry’s office door was left open, allowing Draco to fly back and forth without pause. Some Aurors did try to pet him but the majority were immediate focused on only what he brought. Breaking out in the parchment from their string confines and reading, scanning the pages fast and flicking through everything as efficiently as possible. Others left in pairs, heading off to the Floos or the Unspeakables or a witness. Whatever busy atmosphere was perpetuated about the Auror Department was changed fast, now that they did have work to do. Ironically, the busier the Auror were, the quieter and emptier the floor became. 

If he was human, he wouldn’t have seen it. A shadow crossed the worn carpet. Wouldn’t have heard the scratching of tiny legs on a wooden desk. He turned to pinpoint the noise to see a bug.

“Hey, buddy what’s up?” The young wizard tried to coo him back to a relaxed state - and Draco had to say, he could feel it take over, that hunting urge, to find and catch. Fury too, because the little creature wasn’t unknown to him. It was a bug, a very familiar and shitty bug. He skidded over to another table, waiting to see it appear again. 

“Sir! Sir! Your owl’s gone barmy!” Collins yelled in the distance and Draco followed not the sound of that too gruff voice but the scraping of a beetle panicking. He fluttered over another desk, another chair, landed on the corner to see the bulbous back disappear under a hole in another desk. 

No you don’t, Draco flew higher, not much but enough to give more force in his eventual stomp.

“Bloody hell, do we have mice?”

If this was Rita, he wasn’t going to say he wouldn’t just use his owl legs to stomp the living crap out of her. What was she doing here? What was she thinking of writing? Was it anything about Harry? Had it finally leaked? At the worst time possible (not only on the vote but him staying at Malfoy Manor might be revealed in the aftermath). 

He launched himself down, in a manner he wasn’t used to but had tried in the beginning of his transformations and now the same instinct like breathing took place. Battering his legs and talons against the wood, it splintered with ease - he screamed at her to come out. Not that she’d understand.

“Fornax, what’s wrong?” Harry’s hand soothed over his back. Wait. Harry would know if he saw her. So, Draco shrieked, clawed into the hole he was trying to carve out of the desk. Only when he heard the scratching it was from the other side. Oh no, she wasn’t getting away, not in this lifetime. He returned to the desk, now unmanned and scooted across to the next. He could hear her so clearly. Where was she hiding? Piles of parchment fell, but he ignored the shuttering sound of them falling.

“When was the last time you fed him, Sir? Maybe he’s just hungry?”

He nipped whoever tried to crowd him. Get out of the way! Rita Skeeter was the vilest human being to live and Draco would rather be friendly with Collins. Another person tried to calm him and he hissed and nipped those fingers too. While she was stuck in the bullpen of Aurors and their paperwork, the chances she’d transform back were nill. She would flee first and Draco could only hope to find her now. 

“He’s a fussy eater, he wouldn’t be doing this if it’s just mice. It’s something else. Leave him be.” Someone else tried to distract him with a cut of jerky. Harry’s voice was enough to stop all that. “That’s an order. Get out of his way.” It made it easier to track, that the humans that were doing their writing stopped and moved out of his way, the others that tried to grab onto him, began to back away.

Where was she? He hopped over another, sat on a chair and listened. Where was she? She was panicking, it was a fast noise he was searching for, something scurrying for their lives. There. She’d made a terrible error in trying to move from one row to the next row of tables and chairs. 

Owls were perfectly adapted at making no noise, Skeeter probably didn’t even know Draco was in the air above her. ‘Got you,’ he lunged down, caught her between the talons in one foot. If he wanted to, he could have crushed her into paste if his foot connected even the slightest. Trapping was the best, only, method Draco had right now.

“I think it caught something.” 

An errant thought he could kill her now and no one would be the wiser - he could swallow the evidence and Rita Skeeter, the woman who’d posted all the cruelest and worst things about his son - all those awful bullshit stories about his only son - and his wife would be gone. Finally. He pushed his foot against her, saw the beetle squirm more and screamed at her. He wished sometimes, he was capable of murder.

He picked her up, careful despite her flailing little limbs and returned to Harry. Who recognised the beastie immediately. 

“All that for a bug?” Another Auror said. 

“It’s not just any bug,” Collins griped. Those who knew scowled at the wriggling beetle in Harry’s palm. 

“That’s enough Rita. Unless you want me to hand you back to the owl, turn back,” Harry commanded and the entire department seemed to wait. Some wore confused faces, looking to their seniors to see if Harry Potter had really lost it. 

The beetle jumped from Harry’s hand and morphed and twisted as it fell. Rita was older, her hair grey and her glasses thicker. Though, her lipstick still was a vibrant red and Draco spied the notepad and auto-quill. Those, he’d need to rid her of those. Thankfully, the department couldn’t be held responsible for an owl’s actions.

“Harry Potter, your bird almost killed me.” She pulled out a compact mirror and took a look at the damage. Draco was a little peeved how she didn’t care how she’d been caught so redhanded. 

“Shame that,” Collins added and Draco hooted back. He didn’t want to agree with him but he was the lesser of two idiots. She retouched her lipstick without a care as if the Aurors weren’t all glaring as if Harry wasn’t capable of squashing her with the very ceiling. Enough, the only reason Skeeter was being polite (or as polite as the woman could be) was because she still had her notes. Draco flew high up to perch on the lights - another Muggle technology to make its way into the Ministry - and waited. 

“Collins, mind if you escort Skeeter to the Minister? I imagine she’d like to hear why the press was trespassing.”

“Just seeking the truth, dear.” She smiled and walked behind Collins and that was when Draco left his station. He grabbed her notes and was gone with them before she could defend against the theft. “That’s my property! I demand you to return it this instant.”

Draco flew away, notepad and all and the entire Auror Department allowed him to leave. He hid away, not sure if he should tear and rip the notes apart or keep them and see just what Rita was trying to accomplish. 

Harry found him hiding in the rafters of one of the opened interrogation rooms. He relented the notepad first then stepped over to be carried back to Harry's Office. He shut the door, grumbling about Rita and how much of a pain she was. Draco could only hoot in agreement. 

Almost as soon as Harry had sat down and pushed the near empty notepad off to a drawer so no one could see it, a knock at the door had Draco unsettled. Who was it now?

“Sir, I was told to ask you to sign off on this.” This Auror, with broad shoulders and a crooked nose stayed outside the office. Peeking in like some of the other Aurors before him. It was interesting: cliques of personnel and respect for Harry differing between them. Such might make earning back his famous name of a Dark Wizard Vanquisher more difficult. What was the curious point was this Auror didn’t lack awareness of how dismissive he’d said those words. 

“Do we know who she is?” Harry didn’t retaliate towards the disrespect, didn't so much as look up. Draco was happy to glare in his stead. 

“Elise Middleton. No employment records, no relatives, no friends. But has a swanky place. As it turns out, she has a letter from our resident Deatheater discussing services rendered.” He seemed proud of his assessment and wanted nothing more than Harry to sign the parchment that floated to his desk. 

“Which one?” Harry was starting another batch and if Draco knew any better he’d say Hermione sent him a nudge to be getting on too. Or maybe this was a Good Day. 

“Malfoy,” the Auror said as if Harry was an idiot. He sat up and Draco cocked his head to the side, was he really surprised Aurors wanted him in prison? No, but now? So close to a vote? 

“Red hair? Does she have red hair?” 

“No? Brunette.” Harry finally set on reading the file an action which resulted in the Auror clicking his tongue. 

“Sir, I can handle an uppity pureblood.” 

An uppity pureblood? Had his reputation dwindled so much he now didn’t strike even a hint of dread? The next time he was pulled in for an interview; witness or otherwise he would make it easier to pull blood from a dragon. 

“You can handle what I say you can handle and Draco Malfoy would eat you alive. Give me everything you have on Elise.” 

For what seemed like too long, the Auror deflated, a scoff in the air. Relented the file with no grace and left, a billowing Auror robe behind him. He returned and all but threw the file down on the desk and sulked away. Heavens these young Aurors had an attitude, Draco hopped around trying to place himself in a position he could read the file without it being obvious. The picture caught his eye. 

It was her. 

Siobhan, the Healer they knew as Siobhan, dead. He chirped and hopped around, trying to show his outrage. The photographs of the crime scene weren’t gruesome like some, wasn’t a horror which would haunt Draco’s nighttime. What he didn’t want to remember, was the hollowness of her face. She’d left less than a week ago and she was bones, skin tight over them. 

Harry unfolded a letter within the file itself and set it down as he frowned at the ‘evidence’.

“Did you send her this?” Draco twisted his head upside down and read the letter. It was his handwriting, yes, though Draco would never have sent a letter with blots of ink marring the bottom. The tone of his letter was what most considered him to be, brash and demanding with little leeway for the recipient to say no. Hiring Siobhan was under the table as was her payments. She wouldn’t have kept this letter even if Draco had sent it to her.

A fairly decent plant but not so convincing. Draco shook his head. 

“Damn it.” Harry sat back on his chair and he seemed tired. Too tired. “It says she died yesterday, a type of Starving Curse. That-- That can’t be coincidence, can it?” Whether it was supposed to be comforting or a reminder, Harry touched Draco’s wings and double checked where the runes and blood once were. “This was torture. Who, why would anyone torture a Healer?” 

She wasn’t really a Healer, Draco wanted to remind him. Who knew what kind of credentials died with her? A mix of Elise (the one they’d known as Siobhan) and Siobhian (the real one) might have had more than the basics of healing in her head.

“Let’s say, Elise killed Siobhan, the real one, for whatever reason. And assumed her identity, became a Healer to those who want a discrete service.” Draco wasn’t sure who was capable of murder: he had always assumed he was capable, he would feel no remorse and no hesitation. “You hired her to look after me. No one else knew that, right? You didn’t tell anyone.” 

Another shake of the head and Draco tried to follow the logic. Moran and his father might have assumed he’d taken up a Healer, when instead he’d asked Blaise for help. Had Siobhan died because of him? Because Moran assumed the Healer in his house - and she had left a few times - was for him. 

“Let’s talk back at the Manor, later.” 

Harry didn’t speak much or offer him any pets. Such a change Draco had to consider Harry considered him guilty. That didn’t hurt - it annoyed. 

Weasley sat at his desk after lunch and Draco fluttered to watch him work for a time. No one would need Auror training to see he hated it here. He doodled on parchment, scoffed and shook his head reading file after file. A change from the usual cheery Ron from the Weasley’s joke shop. 

How much resentment could build in a few years? Draco left to sit on Collins’ desk and stare as he scratched and bled ink everywhere. What didn’t happen was the other Aurors no longer entered Harry’s office and Draco couldn’t see why. Another strange rule, one Draco wasn’t yet privy to. 

The younger lot were all gone by the days end and the older, doing paperwork and tying up loose ends were bent over desk and grateful at the clocks whistle. They left immediately. Harry wouldn't stay much longer and Draco flew home to wait. 

Draco fretted just a bit. Siobhan was dead. Somehow, someone considered her a big enough threat. Maybe it had nothing to do with Malfoy or voting. But Draco didn’t trust coincidences.

Harry was barely through the Floo before Draco started to speak, his innocence was clear here. But guilt was a sticky emotion happy to cling to everyone for anything. 

“This is my fault. Moran must have seen her leave on her supply trips. He thought she cured me.” Would she still be alive if he’d demanded she not leave the Manor? Would she be alive if Draco had braved the world and obtained the ingredients she required. 

“It was Blaise wasn’t it?” Harry said not unloading his Auror demeanor. 

“Let’s not get into that right now.” Draco wasn’t going to say Blaise was working without a license and paid none of the taxes. “How, why would he bother killing her? She said she was leaving. She was out of here.” 

Death, murder specifically was a hunted crime and not one easily ignored or escaped. Why kill a threat if all the threat needed was another threat in its stead? No reason. Unless Siobhan knew more than she let on. Unless she was planted here. Why? Her presence hadn’t interfered with anything. Nor did she seem interested in the Dark Artefacts. 

It didn’t make any sense. If she was planted, why did her presence make whoever did this kill her. If she wasn’t one why not simply offer her more Galleons than Draco. 

“Unless he’s going to attack again and wants to make sure you don’t end up cured the next time round.” Draco flinched, Harry was a tad intimidating with his Auror reds. 

And if Moran was going to come here and try to kill him - probably after the Rings of Celius did their job and Draco was then disposable - then Harry couldn’t be here. Not anymore, not while he was ill and weaker than normal. 

Damage control, minimising casualties tasks he was more than capable. He moved then towards the lab, Harry following. 

“You can’t stay here, you aren’t well enough. I’ll make a batch for you--” Right, Harry still required potions and going by the shelf life of some of the ingredients he might have to make them in batches of twelve. Draco was pulled, physically, out his thoughts as Harry grabbed his elbow and looked at with such a strange mixture of emotion Draco would need months to study it to figure them all out. 

“You can’t stay here, Moran’s coming to kill you.” A hint of anger, worry, and such an anxious fidget coupled with the juxtaposed squared shoulders ready for a fight. Draco didn’t know what to make of it. 

He sighed. Today after the orders from Hermione he wanted to write a few letters and test his hypothesis about Harry. Now Potter was in his Save Everyone mode and Draco wasn’t sure if a quick drink would help remind Harry he wasn’t at work anymore. Moran wouldn’t attack, not until he had the rings. Draco had time, as little a time as it was.

If this was for the vote, even an hour or so beforehand, if Draco’s hand was taken by the ring then all his work was dead in the water. He’d vote whatever way he was told. And he’d tell whoever whatever, whatever Moran wanted.

“Why don’t we go for that drink?” His distraction was obvious and Harry was unimpressed. Draco decided to up the ante. “I rather need one right about now. Who do you think would be stupid enough to attack the Minister’s table?” Harry hesitated and it meant his defeat as Draco continued, “I haven’t been to the Leaky in a while. Do they still sell that awful vintage?”

“We are talking about this when we get back.” His nostrils flared but he was far from sulking, if anything Draco was sure if Potter was adamant in his protection they wouldn’t be leaving, just reinforcing and doubling wards and protections. 

“Certainly,” Draco lied. “I’ll be in the lab till then.” Making sleeping potions for Harry soon to be departure and writing an accusing letter to Nott about his lack of opinion on the voting world. 

How bad could a drink or two with Harry's little entourage go? By then, Draco hoped to return to several cauldrons bubbling and an answer to how Harry’s mind worked. He paused over adding his signature. Someone had done a fantastic job copying it. Someone who had a signed letter to practise repeatedly. Draco didn’t sign off and sent the letter to Nott. 

He really needed a drink the longer he thought about it. The cherub hadn’t been Siobhan Goven or Elise (and he was sure he would always think of the woman as Siobhan rather than Elise). Now, he wasn’t sure. Nott could always be trying to distract him. After the drink (or two, or five, or the whole night) Draco would revisit the memory of the scrawl Nott had sent him. It calmed him, though. He had time and he would need to wait till Nott’s reply. With two sets of fakes in the house, Draco wasn’t so sure Moran would pick even a correct pair never mind the real ones. 

Something was missing, something crucial. He pushed the niggling and nagging thought aside and went to see if Harry had dressed down from his uniform. Tonight he’d have an answer to at least one of his hypotheses. If Harry’s friends didn’t murder him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is a bit more fluff and feels; a night out with Harry and his friends. Draco and Harry get a tad jealous too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
